


Skies on Fire

by Robin_tCJ



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Civil War Fix-It, Feels, M/M, Mindfuck, POV Steve Rogers, POV Tony Stark, Post-Avengers: Age of Ultron (Movie), Sexy Times, The Author Regrets Nothing, canon compliant until it isn't, possible speculation spoilers, the author regrets some things
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-01
Updated: 2016-02-14
Packaged: 2018-05-17 13:04:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 18
Words: 26,245
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5870722
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Robin_tCJ/pseuds/Robin_tCJ
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Civil War Fix-It, with possible spoilers, if you consider trailer analysis, Wikipedia research on the existing Civil War Comics storyline, and casting knowledge to be spoilers. I've played fast and loose with shots from the trailer, though, because they're just clips and therefore open to my own personal interpretation. Also, I've made the choice to ignore whatever parts of the canon I wanted, in order to make my thing work. Because CREATIVE LICENSE and stuff.</p><p>Edited: This was based on the first full-length trailer, and subsequent trailers of course made a big difference in how this meshed with canon. Of course. </p><p>AKA: Steve and Tony get along until they don't.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This will be updated regularly, at least twice a week
> 
> Trying a new writing style, which is more of a sketchy, vague style, skipping over some things and giving more detail to others. I hope it works. I can't imagine the word count if I'd actually wrote all the details of everything. Civil War Fix-It, with possible spoilers, if you consider trailer analysis, Wikipedia research on the existing Civil War Comics storyline, and casting knowledge to be spoilers. I've played fast and loose with shots from the trailer, though, because they're just clips and therefore open to my own personal interpretation.  
> I did a whole bunch of research, and still just used vague details of things (like the United Nations, and UN-SPIDER which I swear is a thing, google it if you don't believe me) because reasons.  
> There's the odd part of the trailer I couldn't figure out how to incorporate, because it just didn't fit with my story, so I guess technically we'll call that “canon divergence.” Also, some moments are clearly one thing, but I've twisted them into another thing entirely. Eh, it's fanfiction, what do you want? I tried to get in as much as possible.  
> Rated Explicit but I think you could also call it Mature. I decided better safe than sorry.
> 
> AKA: Steve and Tony get along until they don't.

After Tony quits the Avengers, Pepper breaks up with him. It's cool but not cold. She says it's not about Ultron, not really, but Tony can read between the lines. She says something – he can't remember all the details because his ears were ringing with the rush of his own blood pressure – about the difficulty of trying to manage her mental health between the calling out of psychotic super villains and the imminent destruction of the planet by artificially intelligent alien code hybrids that he himself invented and unleashed on the world, and she goes.

He tries to muster up some surprise, but she's spent the last few years convinced he was going to die a horrible death, and he guesses after a while anyone would give up. He doesn't blame her, but he won't admit she's right when she argues that he's never _not_ going to be an Avenger.

So Tony goes drinking instead. He takes Rhodey out to some fancy club and sits on a VIP sofa with a steady stream of servers delivering shots, and he parties.

He takes a night. And then, in the morning, he fights through his hangover long enough to call Steve and un-quit.

Steve doesn't even give him a hard time about it. Tony appreciates that.

 

* * *

 

The Avengers facility is a weird goddamned place. Tony leaves training the new kids to the likes of Natasha and Steve, because he can't spend too much time talking to Vision when Jarvis' voice comes out of his mouth, and Sam's hero-worshipping of, just, _all_ of them grates on his nerves. The Maximoff kid looks sad, and what she can do scares the shit out of him, so that's out. And what the hell is he going to train them to do anyway? Tony can do a lot of things, he can't teach shit. He's not a hand-to-hand fighter, he doesn't have a handle on spycraft or war games or drills. Tony does tech. So he spends his time in R &D, blocking off his own little lab and ignoring all the interns in favour of fiddling with new equipment and wishing Banner hadn't taken off so he'd at least have someone to talk to.

And then one Monday afternoon, Steve barges in.

 

* * *

 

“Are you done?”

Tony looks up from his holo screen and blinks owlishly at Steve. Takes a second to recalibrate his brain from “lost in thought while redesigning Sam's Falcon wings” to “having to talk to another person” and shakes his head.

“I still need to figure out a better way to give full range of motion to the wings. Gliding is great, but they've gotta be able to make tight corners.”

“I'm not asking about Sam's equipment,” Steve says, crossing his arms and holding Tony's eye in a most uncomfortably piercing way. Tony, whose natural state is to buck authority, crosses his arms and mirrors Steve's gaze back at him, silent. “I'm asking if you're done hiding down here, feeling sorry for yourself.”

“I'm sorry, feeling what now?”

“You've been down in this lab moping for two months,” Steve says. His biceps bulge a little more than normal, and Tony's pretty sure that's a sign that he's clenching his fists behind those crossed arms. Show off.

“I have not been moping, I've been mechanizing.” Tony rolls his eyes. “And I didn't hear you complaining when I gave you those new concussive force discs.”

“You have been moping. You don't come up to mess for meals, you don't come up and watch training sessions, or engage in training sessions, you don't even socialize with anybody.”

“ _Mess_? I'm a billionaire, I don't eat _mess_ –“

“Tony, that's not what I –“

“I have no desire to watch Wanda and Vision make goo goo eyes at one another while you talk to them about strategy and forbearance,” Tony continues, his mouth working even while his brain reminds him to watch his tone, he's starting to get a little pissy. He softens a little. “I take the suit out once in a while, that's training for me.”

“You haven't taken the suit out for five weeks,” Steve says, and if Tony were into thinking too hard about how people said stuff, he'd think Steve almost sounds sad.

“No, it's only been three – four – well, okay, five weeks, sure, but I haven't had any reason to –“

“And you're not socializing.”

“I don't need to socialize. I don't know if you know this but I spent my entire life socializing. I know how to do it, I just don't need to right now.”

“Tony...”

“Steve.”

“Okay, tell you what,” Steve says, uncrossing his arms. He slips his hand into his back pocket, and Tony's eye follows it. “Let's go for a ride.”

Steve pulls out a single key on a Magic 8 Ball keychain. It's the key for Steve's motorbike – the Ducati Tony 'customized' last month. Or last week. Okay, maybe the days are starting to bleed together a little down here.

“Bike's a single-seater, Cap,” Tony reminds him, arching an eyebrow.

“Who said I was letting you on my bike?”

So Tony agrees. He slips into the Mark Stopped-Counting-Seven-Marks-Ago, and Steve hops on his bike, and they tear down the road – Tony about 30 feet in the air, of course – with their comms set to a private channel.

They don't talk about anything. It's mostly Steve calling out directions – left, right, right – and goading each other into more dangerous breakneck speeds, but it feels good. Steve was right, Tony hasn't been out of the lab in an embarrassing length of time, and he needed to get out. It feels good to have Friday run calculations on curves and turns, and to watch the road zoom by below them. When Steve hits a curve too hard, too fast, and the bike starts to tilt a little too far to the left (even farther than Tony had customized it to allow), it feels really good to dip down and right the machine – and the man – before something terrible happens.

 

* * *

 

Four days later, Steve comes down to the lab again and drags Tony upstairs for a beer. Two days after that, Tony comes up of his own volition and sits down to dinner with Steve and Natasha, in the mess hall and everything, and spends the whole evening chatting and laughing and generally having a good time.

The next morning, Steve brings him a coffee down to the lab, and asks what he's working on. Tony's working with a new repulsor cannon design on the holo screen, so he starts to point out some of its features, and Steve leans forward, over his shoulder, to get a closer look.

That's when it all goes to shit.

Tony can smell him – spicy-sweet scent of deodorant and musk, shampoo that smells like cinnamon. The effect the scents have on his body is instantaneous. He goes from concentrating on tech to half-hard in no time, and his whole body tenses.

“It looks like a good grip,” Steve murmurs, pointing over Tony's shoulder – over his goddamned shoulder – at the schematics hovering in front of them.

Tony wants to crack a joke about the shaft, and blow-back, and rounds per minute, but all he's got is _Steve smells amazing_ so he says nothing.

Steve puts a hand on Tony's shoulder, and its warm weight brings “half-hard” to “fully hard,” and Tony's mouth goes dry.

“You're doing good work down here.” And then he leaves the lab, and Tony just sinks down onto his stool and runs a hand over his face.

“You've gotta be kidding me.”

 

* * *

 

Tony tries not to think about it, so of course he does nothing but think about it. The repulsor cannon goes no further, he can't work out how to fix the trigger mechanism and he's past any hope of concentrating. What he does do is take the suit out and go for a zip around the countryside, repeatedly. Finds himself at a party in the Hamptons, picks up a rather buxom brunette, if he does say so himself. She's not a bimbo – Tony hasn't done the bimbo thing in an awful lot of years – but she's not particularly interesting, either. He still takes her to bed, and in the morning he leaves her hotel room without leaving a phone number.

He doesn't feel guilty – he never made it out to be any more than casual sex. It's not a foreign concept to either of them.

No, he doesn't feel guilty. But there is a feeling he's not sure he can identify. He's never been good with feelings.

He goes back to the base still smelling of her perfume, and he runs into Steve before he can get to his quarters to shower. Steve looks him up and down, rolls his eyes, and doesn't say a word.

The feeling intensifies.

 

* * *

 

 

Tony continues like this for three weeks. Every other night, he skips out and finds a party, somewhere. He's Tony Stark, he can find a party anywhere, and he's never not invited. Sometimes he finds someone to fuck, sometimes he doesn't. When that unnamed feeling (he knows, by now, that the feeling is regret, but he refuses, goddammit, to name it) nips at his heels, he brushes it aside. He's single, he's on the rebound, he can do what he wants.

One night, he ends up in the bed of a tall, muscular blond man. They're going to town – the guy is sucking Tony's dick with enthusiasm, and Tony's got his fingers threaded through his (Mark's? Matt's? Something like that, he thinks) hair, when the beefcake opens his eyes and looks up at Tony.

He's going for sultry, obviously, and Tony wants to believe it, but the eyes that look up at him are brown, not blue, and he feels... regret. Cuts it short, feels like an asshole, but he's not into it anymore.

He goes home, and he jerks off in the shower without any shame, thinking about tall, broad shoulders and blue eyes that bore into his like they know every secret he's ever kept.

 


	2. Chapter 2

Tony goes back to moping in the lab. Yes, he's fucking moping, but he's old enough to make his own decisions and he _decides_ his _decision_ is that he's going to mope in the lab and feel sorry for himself. When one's relatively harmless crush on Captain America, tall-drink-of-water super soldier, starts to develop into a full blown infatuation, one gets to avoid human contact for a while.

And Steve's being an asshole, too – totally running hot and cold. He's completely fine and pleasant and nice and amazing one day, and then the next day (usually when Tony comes home from an all-nighter with a nameless conquest, but he hasn't done that math yet) he won't even give Tony the time of day.

So Tony sits in his lab, poring over a newer, better version of the repulsor cannon that locks to the same arm bands as the vibranium shield (so that Steve can't drop it, but it's not a _thing_ , don't make it a _thing_ , okay?), brooding. And tinkering.

“You coming upstairs ever again?” Steve asks, barging into the lab. Tony jumps, because he'd been lost in thought trying to design a grip that's both comfortable and practical, and also doesn't stick out when the cannon's attached to the electromagnetic armbands.

“You've reached the life model decoy of Tony Stark. I'm not available at the moment, so please leave your name, number, and I'll call back when I feel like it,” Tony says, not looking up from his work.

“Ha ha,” Steve says without rancour. “You have to stop using the life model decoy line every time you want to be left alone. Seriously, what are you working on?”

“Friday, start fabrication,” Tony says, ignoring the question, and flicks his wrist to close down the holo window. He stands up from his stool and stretches. The stretch takes on a mind of its own, because he's been hunched over that stool for – _Jesus, has it really been three hours?_ – and his arms go straight over his head, and his eyes close.

He opens them, and Steve is right in front of his face.

“Jesus, Steve, what –“ but the words stop, _are_ stopped, because his mouth is suddenly busy. Steve has closed the distance between their lips, and all Tony can taste is cinnamon and cloves as Steve's mouth moves wetly over his.

He's frozen, for a moment, and then – because Tony Stark's brain is faster than most, and sometimes it knows a good idea sooner than he does – he's kissing Steve back, hands up and around those magnificent biceps, and a gentle creak comes from Steve's throat before he lurches back, panting. Dark pupils dilate wide, blacking out most of Steve's blue eyes, and a faint flush rises to his cheeks. Tony waits – like if Steve were a skittish horse. Sure, Steve initiated it, but Tony took it up a notch, and he's not sure how Steve's going to react. So far, somewhat poorly, because he _stopped_.

And then Steve finds whatever it is he's searching for in Tony's eyes, leans in again, and Tony feels pretty good about his choices.

 

* * *

 

It's not like Tony would have expected. Well, okay, he didn't really have any expectations. Steve Rogers, Captain America, Only Known Living Super Soldier Serum Success Story (say that five times fast, he thinks, deliriously) is an amazing specimen of a man – and while he's adjusting to modern life pretty well, Tony hadn't imagined he'd have a lot of modern, accepting attitudes toward same-sex tonsil hockey. But that first afternoon, they kiss for a while, and then Steve pulls away, gives Tony's hand a squeeze (they're holding hands? When did that happen?) and says “See you later,” and leaves. Tony's left in the lab, flabbergasted, turned on, and confused. Before dinner, Steve comes down again and gives him a thousand-watt smile, and they go upstairs to eat together. They aren't overt, but they're easy together. Tony waits for his cues, but Steve seems to just want to spend time with him. He comes back down to the lab with Tony after they eat, but this time they just talk – it's comfortable, and easy, and Tony's skin is humming with the desire to crawl onto Steve's lap and debauch him, but he waits to see what _Steve_ does, first.

What Steve _does_ is play the long game. They hang out, they touch one another's hands from time to time, and they make out, and if Tony didn't know better he would think they were quietly _dating_ , but while their kisses are heated, they don't turn wanton. Steve has a habit of wrapping those strong, warm fingers around the back of Tony's neck, cupping the side of his jaw, while they kiss slowly and languorously, while his other hand firmly grips one of Tony's, and his thumb brushes maddening, gentle patterns across Tony's sensitive wrist.

Tony's not used to waiting. But truth be told, he's still a little bit in shock. He hadn't known there was any room for fluidity in Steve's sexuality, and he doesn't know how to ask without making it uncomfortable. All he knows is Steve doesn't seem ashamed, and with a million or so kisses under his belt, he's never been kissed _quite_ like this.

 

* * *

 

It goes on that way for a couple of weeks, and then, without much preamble, they have sex. Steve takes Tony up to his room, and Tony thinks he's in for another hot and heavy – but ultimately tormenting – make-out session on Steve's sofa, and Steve pulls away, panting. Tony gears up to say good night before going back to his own quarters for an embarrassingly fast jacking session, but Steve just stares at him for a moment before standing and pulling Tony up with him. He jerks his chin toward the bedroom door, hanging open.

“Wanna go lay down?” Steve asks, his voice a rumble in his chest. He worries at his bottom lip with his teeth, and Tony realizes he's nervous. Nervous, yeah, but this is clearly a proposition and Tony is neither stupid nor a saint. He doesn't even answer, he just brings their lips together again, stands, and starts walking backward, pulling Steve along with him, toward the bedroom.

They tumble onto the bed, and Tony straddles Steve's pelvis while they kiss, slowly rolling his hips and coaxing out sweet little sounds from Steve's throat. Steve's hands start pushing at the hem of his T-shirt, and Tony breaks the kiss long enough to pull it up over his head. Steve's hands wander up over his chest, over the faded reactor scar, pulling his head down to meet his lips again and then settling on either side of Tony's hips, pulling him down against his own groin.

Tony can feel the rock-hard, impressive length of Steve's arousal pressing up against his balls, and a rather undignified, wholehearted moan escapes from his chest. He breaks the kiss and lifts himself up on his knees, reaching under himself to palm at Steve's hardness, wetting his own lips.

Steve chuckles breathlessly, and then starts trying to take his own shirt off, but he's trapped under Tony. Tony gives his cock another squeeze, then swings off to the side and stands up. He starts to work at his fly, but Steve's hands are suddenly there, unfastening the button and pulling down the zipper, then pushing Tony's jeans and underwear down his hips. He's achingly hard already.

Then Steve quickly works on his own clothes, lifting his hips to push his pants down and off, and Tony's mouth goes dry. Super soldier is right – Steve is magnificent from head to toe.

“You're amazing,” he murmurs, almost to himself, and Steve just looks up to meet his eye, fingers lightly caressing Tony's hip.

“Not so bad yourself,” Steve says in a low voice, and then he's pulling Tony back onto his lap, so that Tony's straddling him, and their cocks are sliding against one another while Steve takes his mouth with a deep kiss.

Tony moans, and then Steve flips them over so that his weight is pressing Tony down to the bed, and they're panting and kissing, and Steve's grinding down against Tony's hard cock, and when did _frottage_ get to be so goddamned _hot_? Tony's about to lose his goddamned _mind_.

And then Steve reaches a hand down between them, grips both their cocks in one strong, hot fist, and with the aid of slickness from their leaking arousal, starts a hard, fast stroking rhythm. Tony just about vibrates off the fucking _bed_ it feels so good. His cock is sliding slickly against Steve's, and Steve's hand is gripping him and stroking in opposite rhythm with his hips, which are still grinding down, and his head is spinning with the scent of sex and desire, and the bed is creaking under them. He feels his toes start to tingle and then his balls are drawing up and he has to break his mouth away from Steve's as his head rears back and his cock jerks, and then there's hot wetness spattering his belly, making Steve's hand slicker, and then Steve's crying out against his neck, his hand moving faster with his own release – he shudders a few times and then drops bonelessly on top of Tony.

He lets out a small ' _oof_ ', and then Steve rolls off him to the side, panting.

“Jesus,” says Tony, once he catches his breath and the stars behind his eyes dissipate. He can't remember coming that hard from a _hand job_ since he was behind the high school gym with Marissa Williams, surrounded by the smell of grape Double Bubble.

Steve chuckles low in his throat, then reaches over to the night stand for a handful of tissues. He hands a few to Tony, then grabs a fresh handful and starts mopping up the mess on his belly.

Tony watches him, because the movement has drawn his attention back down to those abs, and then wipes the mess up off his own chest and belly, and tosses the tissues off the side of the bed. Steve makes a noise that could almost be described as a snort, meets Tony's eye, and tosses his own ball of tissues in the same direction.

“C'mere,” he says, grinning dozily, and pulls Tony against his chest.

Tony presses a light kiss against Steve's shoulder, and thinks about how nicely their bodies fit together like this.

 


	3. Chapter 3

For Steve, the most fascinating part of their changed relationship is that the world around them doesn't change – it doesn't even blink. He's got no reason to think that anyone would notice, of course, but everything seems different to him. The world is sharper – colours aren't brighter or anything, but Steve feels like they might be... more noticeable. Or something.

It's Tony. Of all people, it's _Tony_. Of all people, of _course_ it's Tony.

Steve shakes his head to clear it, pushing the bike a little harder, a little faster. He glances up at Tony, flying just above his head, and grins a little.

Tony, who had always forgiven him, and whom he had always forgiven. There is no festering bitterness between them, even after Tony created Ultron, and even when Steve came after Tony while he was creating Vision. They'd fought, tooth and nail and vicious determination, but they'd always come out the other side of it friends.

More, now.

Steve's not sure he'd call it dating. They don't go out together, besides these joyrides. They don't touch one another around the others. Steve's gaze might rest on Tony's face half a second longer, and they may share the odd secret smile, but they keep this thing blossoming between them to themselves.

Steve guns the engine and shoots forward, letting out a whoop when Tony falls behind – just for a second, before the suit catches up to him and matches his speed again.

He hadn't intended this, when he'd gone down to Tony's workshop and tried to bring him back out into the world. His intention, at the time, had been to bring Tony out of his head and back in the game. A distracted Tony, while still brilliant, was not going to be useful to them in the field. If there were some sort of attack, or some mission, Steve knew he needed Tony it top fighting shape, not holed up in his workshop running on coffee fumes.

So he'd gone down and pulled him out. They'd had fun. It was a nice break from the harsh truths Steve had been facing while training the new recruits, from the brittle, tenuous dynamic there.

And then... he'd seized the moment.

 

* * *

 

It's getting to be bad. Steve knows they can't keep going like this. He's got Tony pressed up against the wall in a hallway – a widely-used, very _public_ hallway – and Tony is making a needy sound at the back of his throat, when Steve steps away, panting. Tony's eyes open accusingly, surprised.

“We gotta stop doing this,” Steve tells him.

Tony rubs a hand down his face, takes a deep breath. “Stop doing this, or stop doing this in hallways?”

Steve chuckles and steps back in, resting his forehead against Tony's.

“Don't wanna fuck you in a hallway,” he says. Tony groans and his hands clench on Steve's biceps. They leave the hallway, and they go upstairs to Tony's room.

Steve spends a long time preparing Tony's body to take him, using fingers and slick lubricant to spread and stretch him. Tony's gasping a litany of dirty words and pleas, but Steve takes his time.

When he slides in, slowly but steadily, to the hilt, Tony's babbling goes up half an octave.

Steve starts slow, peppering kisses across Tony's chest while he moves in and out, but when Tony starts to claw at his back in desperation, he picks up the pace. He sets a steady rhythm that only falters when Tony's body clenches around him, and his moans crescendo into cries, riding an intense orgasm. Steve chases his own pleasure then, and when Tony comes back to himself enough to talk, he gasps out encouragements and praise while kneading Steve's arms and ribs, and Steve comes with his face pressed into the flesh where Tony's neck meets his shoulder.

He pulls out and away, and they kiss lazily until they both fall asleep.

 

* * *

 

The alarm goes off at 4, and Tony buries his face deeper into Steve's throat, making a disappointed noise. Steve scrubs at his face with one hand, starts to push himself up into a sitting position.

Tony rolls onto his back and blinks up at him, glaring.

Steve leans down and brushes a kiss over his jawline, then crawls out from under the covers and gets out of bed. He takes his clothes with him to the bathroom, and dresses after he relieves himself.

Tony's sitting up, hugging his knees and meeting Steve's eyes sleepily.

“How much longer are we going to do this?” he asks. He doesn't sound angry, just resigned.

“You really wanna have that conversation right now?” Steve asks him. He sits on the edge of the bed, close enough to take hold of Tony's ankle and brush his thumb across the bone protruding there.

“No. What I want is to go back to sleep. Not by myself.”

Steve sighs. “I have to go back to my room, Tony.”

Tony flops back onto the pillows. “I know. Early enough that no one will see you go.” He sits up again. “I just hate waking up early. Nothing makes sense.”

Steve leans forward and presses a soft kiss to Tony's lips, then does it again.

He pulls back, runs a hand through his hair, and leaves the room.

 

* * *

 

Steve has the sense to reach behind him and open the door there when Tony presses up against his whole body in the hallway again, kissing him breathless. They tumble into – what is this, a supply closet? – the small dark room, and Tony's hands are everywhere, his tongue probing deeply into the kiss.

A groan escapes from Steve's throat, evolving into a full-fledged moan as Tony's hand presses against his crotch and his lips trail across Steve's jaw and down his throat.

“Tony, someone might have –“

He doesn't finish the sentence because Tony's latched onto his mouth again, fingers deftly making short work of Steve's fly, unbuttoning and unzipping with practiced ease.

His hot hand slides inside, and then Tony's got a full grip on his erection, giving a slow slide from root to tip.

Tony pulls back, stopping the motion of his hand and meeting Steve's eye.

“Think you can keep quiet?” he murmurs, not breaking his gaze.

Steve pants and shifts his hips, hands clenching at Tony's waist. One hand trails up Tony's chest and he wraps it around the back of Tony's neck. “Yeah.” He has no idea, really, but right now he'll give Tony anything in the world if he asks it.

Tony smirks, then drops to his knees.

“Oh, God,” Steve whimpers, as his cock is enveloped in wet heat. He's suddenly not sure he cares if they get caught or not.

 

* * *

 

Steve runs his fingers up and down Tony's side, from mid-thigh to ribcage, gently caressing as Tony tries to regain control. It's almost cruel, he knows, to hold still for so long, but he wants this to last.

They're laying side by side on Tony's bed, Tony's back to his front. Tony's head is resting in the crook of Steve's outstretched arm, and their fingers are wound together, Tony's knuckles beginning to verge on turning white.

He pushes forward again, the barest hint of an inch, and Tony's breath hitches.

He's just so tight.

He presses a kiss to the back of Tony's neck, just on his hairline, and lets his hips thrust forward a little. Tony reaches back and grips the side of his waist. Steve stops moving, thinking he's pushed too far, Tony needs more time, but Tony pulls at him, tries to push his own hips back, and Steve is no fool – he thrusts the rest of the way in, and they both let out a groan of satisfaction.

Once his hips are fully pressed against Tony's backside, though, he pauses. He takes a deep, shaking breath, and Tony clenches.

“Come on, babe,” Tony breathes, turning his head and looking over his shoulder. He meets Steve's eye. “Need you to move.”

A needy sound drags itself out of Steve's throat, and his hips pull back and move forward, more of a push than a thrust.

Tony gasps and pushes back to meet him.

Steve wonders if he can just stay here forever, surrounded by Tony's smell, the feel of him.

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An extra chapter, outside of the schedule, posted because the last one was kind of short, and didn't have much plot.

It's not necessarily love. Tony knows better than anyone that intimacy doesn't require love. But it's definitely more than just sex – he can tell by the way Steve finds excuses to surreptitiously brush the backs of his fingers against Tony's skin when they're not alone, and the way he finds himself watching Steve from across the room. He watches Steve do little things, like hold the door open for Wanda Maximoff, who could literally hold the door open herself from eight feet away, just because it's the chivalrous thing to do. He watches Steve do big things, too, like giving the whole team a common goal to work toward in training, and then spending the whole day leading them through different scenarios until they can meet that goal a dozen different ways without breaking a sweat. And he watches Steve flutter his eyes closed when he sinks into Tony's body, both of them slicked with sweat and panting with effort, and lets out a low groan while Tony feels the stretch and burn of being perfectly, astoundingly full.

But it's not love.

 

* * *

 

Natasha finds out first. Tony would have been disappointed if she hadn't, really, because while they're being relatively discreet, they're also not necessarily hiding it or anything. Except for Steve leaving his room in the middle of the night before anyone can spot him.

Steve tells him about Natasha one night while they're lying in the afterglow of a particularly athletic coupling, Tony still lying on his stomach while Steve lazily runs warm fingers up and down his spine.

“She's worried.”

Tony snorts. “I don't think we were expecting 'celebratory Babushka' from Natasha,” he says, his voice still hoarse, but warm. “But is she _pissed_?”

“You'd know if she was,” Steve reminds him. That's true, of course – if Natasha Romanov were pissed at them, they would both be in many separate pieces in many different locations, and no one would be brave enough to ask after their whereabouts. Tony huffs a laugh and rolls onto his side, propping his head up on one elbow to look down at Steve.

“So what's she worried about? Does she think you're going to break me in half with all your impressive muscles?” He means it to be snarky, he really does, but his traitorous cock twitches valiantly, if futilely, to show its appreciation for those impressive muscles.

Steve rolls his eyes and props himself on his own elbow so their eyes are level. His other hand sneaks out in front of him and rests over Tony's fingers, and Tony finds himself linking his hand with Steve's.

“She's worried we're going to get distracted when it matters, when we're fighting, and that it's going to cause a problem.”

“She's probably right,” Tony says. “You're ridiculously distracting. You should work on that.”

“I should work –?”

“Your pants are a little on the tight side,” Tony continues gleefully. “There's gonna be a day when I'm supposed to be blasting a cybernetic mutant and I'm gonna get distracted by the way your ass looks in those pants.” He sighs dramatically. “And then we're all going to die, and Natasha will be right.”

“There is nothing wrong with my pants.”

“I don't even understand how you move around like that, with your dick crammed in those damned things.”

“You _designed_ my pants.”

“I designed the _functionality_ of your pants – weapons storage, munitions accessibility, etcetera. I don't design clothing. I had no part in making them fit like that.”

“You designed _all_ of our uniforms, Tony, you had _every_ part in making them fit like that.”

Tony bites his lower lip – equal parts to keep from dissolving into helpless laughter at the look of absolute affront on Steve's face, and because his ever-helpful brain is providing a few choice snapshots of what exactly Steve's ass looks like in the Captain America uniform pants.

“Well, I certainly don't mind the way they fit you,” he says, eyes twinkling.

“It's not fair, you know,” Steve says, eyes darkening with desire.

“What's that?” Tony asks, his heart speeding up a little as Steve's hand reaches for his chest and starts to stroke his skin.

“I can't ogle _you_ in _your_ suit,” Steve mutters, leaning in for a kiss. They don't talk about Natasha for a long time.

 

* * *

 

Tony is on fire. He feels like sparks are dancing across every inch of his skin. He slides his hands up to grip Steve's shoulders, as his hips keep up their slow but steady cant, firmly thrusting down onto Steve's lap.

Steve lets out a groan and his hands tighten a little where they're grasping at Tony's hips. He uses them to shift Tony's angle a little, and then the sparks dancing on his skin start blossoming from where the head of Steve's cock is brushing against his prostate. He drops worshipful kisses across Tony's chest.

“I ... oh, God, do that again ... I think this might be my new favourite position,” Steve says, rolling his hips up. Tony lets his head fall back, moaning.

“You say that about all of them,” he pants. Steve lets out a throaty chuckle.

“I like when you're on top,” he says, almost shyly, pressing a kiss to Tony's jawline.

“What do you like about it?” Tony asks, speeding up his movements a little. “You like that I have control? You like that I'm riding you?”

“Jesus, Tony,” Steve gasps, fingers clenching on his hips. Then, belying his preference regarding position, Steve leans forward, pushing Tony onto his back and pressing his legs up, then thrusts deep and fast. They both let out a groan, and Steve begins a punishing rhythm that, in only a few strokes, has Tony reaching for his cock to stroke it in time with his thrusts.

It only takes a few more, and then Tony's spilling over his hand, eyes squeezed shut in pleasure, coming undone, and Steve seats himself deep in Tony's body and pumps out his own release.

Steve's head drops to Tony's shoulder, and they lay there, together, while they catch their breath.

Steve reaches across him and turns off the alarm.

And maybe it's starting to feel a little bit like love.

 

* * *

 

Of course, nothing lasts forever.

 

* * *

 

They fight about Barnes sometimes. Steve wants to find him, and Tony's trying to help him but he thinks it's a bad idea. They have lots of time to fight about it because the guy's pretty good at staying off the grid, for an assassin with a metal arm.

“He was brainwashed, Tony. You know that.”

It's a familiar argument.

“He tried to _kill_ you. He almost did. I saw the satellite feeds.”

“He _saved_ me.”

Tony doesn't have an answer back.

 

* * *

 

Eventually, Friday's face recognition software gets a hit on someone who maybe kind of looks like Barnes in Bonn, Germany.

“I'm going without you,” Steve tells him. Tony argues.

“There is literally no reason on this earth for me not to go with you.”

“It's better.”

“Jesus Christ, Steve. What the fuck?”

“He doesn't know you.”

“And he knows you? You're not exactly under the radar, Cap, if he wanted to be found, he knows where you are.” These days, Tony only calls him 'Cap' when he's pissed. “Captain America is in New York – James Barnes is in fucking Germany.”

“I have to try, Tony,” Steve sighs.

Tony stares him down for a few moments, and then visibly deflates. “You fucking come home. No matter what.”

“I will.”

 

* * *

 

“There's a summit going on with UN-SPIDER today, at the World Conference Centre,” Tony tells him over his cell phone. “That's why there's so much extra police presence.”

“What's UN-SPIDER?” Steve asks him, glancing around the crowded street. He's brought Sam Wilson to Bonn with him. Steve knows Tony would be a bad mixture with Bucky, but he thinks Sam can help him. And Sam's been with him on this, since before he and Tony... Before he and Tony, anyway.

“United Nations Platform for Space-based Information for Disaster Management and Emergency Response,” Tony tells him.

“What are they summiting about?”

“New York. London. Aliens.”

“Sounds like a big meeting,” Steve says. His stomach feels like it's sinking to his feet. HYDRA had brainwashed Bucky to become the Winter Soldier – a highly-trained super assassin. Was it a coincidence that Bucky was here, in Bonn, now?

“Barnes' last pinged location was about five blocks from there. I've texted the coordinates to your phone,” Tony says.

Steve appreciates that Tony doesn't sound at all like he might be suggesting that Bucky is there for nefarious purposes, but he doesn't say anything.

“I'll call you later,” he says instead.

 

* * *

 

Steve and Sam get to the location Tony texted, and it's just another crowded street. Steve's not sure what he expected to find – Bucky's been staying under the radar for this long, there's no reason to think now would be the time they find him.

“He'll turn up. We're close,” Sam says.

And then Steve sees him. He's across the street, not looking at them until Steve's eyes catch him. Then he looks up, and their eyes meet. Steve goes to step out into the street, to cross, to grab Bucky before he can run again, but he has to stop for a bus – a goddamned _bus_ – and then Bucky's gone. Disappeared.

He looks around frantically, trying to see where Bucky's gone, but just when he thinks he might see him up the street, the entire world explodes.

 

* * *

 

Or, as it turns out, a building. Steve looks over toward the smoking fireball that was once the World Conference Centre, over on the next block.

“Oh, shit,” says Sam.

“We gotta go,” Steve says, and he runs away from the explosion.

 


	5. Chapter 5

It all goes through Steve's mind in a blink. They saw Bucky near the World Conference Centre, and then the World Conference Centre blew up. With presumably hundreds of United Nations delegates inside, not to mention spectators, protesters, the media... Hundreds dead and injured, no doubt. Bucky was right here.

And then Steve sees him – down at the corner, looking at the fireball in horror, and then taking off at a run. So Steve chases.

He doesn't catch up.

 

* * *

 

He finally answers his phone, which has been vibrating in his pocket for the duration of his chase. Of course, it's Tony.

“When you are _three_ blocks away from a gigantic _explosion_ , you _answer_ your fucking _phone_ ,” Tony says by way of greeting. “On the _first_ ring.”

“I'm sorry, Tony, I was...”

“You were making me think you'd died horribly.”

“I was going after Bucky.”

Tony's voice softens. “I was worried.”

Steve sighs. “I know. I'm sorry. We're okay.” He closes his eyes.

“I got a call from the government,” Tony says after a moment. “Just before the bomb hit. We've been requested at a meeting.”

“Is now really the time? I should be looking for Bucky.”

Tony's voice hardens. “I'm so fucking sick of Bucky.”

“Tony...”

“You know what, never mind. The meeting is tomorrow. While I was waiting for you to answer your damned phone, they called again and said it's still on, despite 'recent developments.'”

“That can't be good,” Steve says.

“I don't think it is.”

Steve looks around him again, up and down the street. Bucky is well and truly lost, and Sam has caught up to him.

“Get on the jet, and fly to Switzerland now. I'll meet you there, the meeting is in Geneva in the morning.”

“Tony, I have to –”

“Please.”

Steve gives in, because it's Tony.

 

* * *

 

They spend the night wrapped around one another in their hotel room. It's not soft and romantic – it's hard, and it's desperate. Tony uses his fingers to stretch himself, but it's perfunctory, and would never be mistaken for sufficient enough to ease Steve's way inside him. Tony presses down on Steve's hips with a hiss, his fingers digging into broad, muscular shoulders tightly enough to cause pain in an ordinary man.

Steve surges up to meet him, and they set a punishing pace together. It takes only minutes, Tony riding Steve's cock while he strokes his own, and then Steve's coming, spilling inside him, and Tony follows him over the edge. Once Tony's vision clears, he rolls off of Steve and uses the sheet to clean the mess off Steve's body.

“Next time,” he says, quietly, brokenly, “you answer your phone.”

Steve presses his mouth to where Tony's neck meets his shoulder, and nods. “I promise.”

 

* * *

 

“We're going to have to bring him in,” Tony says quietly later, when they've both woken in the middle of the night.

Neither of them has slept straight through until morning in years.

Steve tenses. “What do you think I've been trying to do for the last three months?”

“It's different now.”

“Something seems off. I don't think we know the whole story.”

“Steve, there are three hundred and sixty seven confirmed dead. What more do you need?”

“I just don't think he could do this.”

“You have no idea what Barnes is capable of.”

Tony turns away from him to fall back asleep. It takes Steve a long time.

 

* * *

 

Secretary Thadeus Ross has the look of a man with conviction. Steve can't help but feel like that might be dangerous as he shakes the man's hand.

He walks into the conference room, Tony coming in behind him, and looks around the room. They're not the only ones here. Natasha has come, too. Sam enters the room after Tony.

Steve sits at the head of the table, beside Natasha, and Sam stands behind him. Tony leans against the wall.

Ross clears his throat. “Captain... while a great deal of people see you as a hero, there are some who would prefer the word 'vigilante'. You've operated with unlimited power and no supervision. That's something the world can no longer tolerate.”

He slides across a thick, heavy sheaf of papers across the table. The front of it reads “Sokovia Accords: Framework for the Registration and Deployment of Enhanced Individuals.”

Steve glances at it, flips through the first few pages, then shoves the pile away in disgust. Tony picks it up and starts to read it.

“Are you serious with this right now?”

“This is for the safety of the human race. For too long, enhanced individuals have been operating under the radar, with no rules, no laws. It has to stop.”

“The last time somebody wanted everyone of a certain type to put their name on a list, it didn't go so well,” Steve said, crossing his arms.

“We're trying to prevent another New York. Another London. Look at what just happened in Bonn,” Ross tells him.

“There's no proof that attack had anything to do with enhanced individuals,” Sam tells him.

Ross snorts. “We have evidence, we have witnesses. We have _every_ reason to believe that.”

“This isn't the way,” Steve says, gesturing vaguely at the document in Tony's hands.

“Steve,” Tony sighs after too long of a pause, looking up. “It's just a list. A list and limits.”

“Come on, Tony,” Steve says, jaw clenching. “You can't believe that.”

“This is the kind of thing that would have prevented a lot of tragedies,” Natasha says, pushing away from the table and standing. “It's just to keep track. Some of these people are dangerous.”

“I'm one of 'these people'. You saying I'm dangerous?” Steve asks her.

“I'm saying you could be.” Natasha gives him a pointed look, then tracks her gaze toward Tony. “He was trying to save the world and we got Ultron out of the deal. Intentions don't matter so much.”

“Of course you're not dangerous,” Tony says, interrupting. He glares at Natasha. “This just means enhanced people don't have carte blanche.”

“It means they don't have rights,” Steve says.

“It's setting limits,” Tony says again.

“You're just proving my point, Tony.”

“If we can't accept limitations, we're no better than the bad guys,” Tony argues, laying the document down on the table and crossing his arms.

“That's not the way I see it,” Steve tells him.

“This could be the only way to keep the world safe.”

“Safe from who?” Steve asks. He's angry that this is even a discussion, and he wants to lash out. “Safe from people like me? Or Wanda? Or you?”

“You know, sometimes I wanna punch you in your perfect teeth,” Tony says. Steve glares at him, and clenches a muscle in his jaw.

“I'm not signing that,” Steve says, and he pushes away from the table and leaves the room.

 

* * *

 

Tony finds him out in the hall. They talk. Actually, they fight. They fight about the Accords, they fight about the team. They say some things they mean, and some things they don't mean, and by the end of it, they're glaring at one another across the hallway and there's a nerve twitching in Tony's temple. But they come to a decision that neither of them are happy about.

“There are some things you can't come back from, Steve,” Tony tells him. His voice feels like glass.

“And sometimes it's worth it,” Steve says sadly. He reaches a hand up as though to touch Tony's face, but he drops it before it makes contact. Instead, he just turns and walks away, down the hall.

And that's how Tony and Steve break up.

 


	6. Chapter 6

Tony goes back into Ross' little meeting room, feeling like all the air's gone out of his lungs. Ross looks at him expectantly.

“He's not on board.”

Ross' lips get tight. “There will be consequences.”

Wilson steps away from the wall he's been leaning against. “You're really okay with this?”

“This is how it's gotta be,” says Natasha, moving to stand beside Tony.

“Not for me.” And then Wilson is gone, too.

Tony marches over to the conference table and pulls a pen out of his pocket. He jerkily signs his name on the line, right above where it says 'Anthony Stark'. He doesn't look at the line that says 'Steven Rogers'.

“This is the first step,” he says. And he's not sure, but it sounds like he's trying to convince himself.

Natasha follows him out – she's a step or two behind, and he thinks it's likely because took the time to sign her name as well. “You know what you're doing here?”

“I'm doing what needs to be done,” he tells her, shortly.

“And damn the consequences?” she asks, after a moment, not really expecting an answer. “Steve...?”

“He made his choice.”

 

* * *

 

Tony leaves Europe and goes back to New York. He goes to his penthouse. Well, his and Steve's. Or it could have been. But Steve's gone, so Tony's drinking.

“Boss, you have a call coming in on the public line,” Friday tells him. “Shall I put it through?”

“Who is it?” he asks. He needs at least two more hours to get properly drunk, here.

“The call is coming from Helmut Zemo, United Nations Special Advisor on Safety and Security, from Germany.”

Tony blinks. Curiosity hasn't killed him yet, so he waves a hand in the ceiling's general direction, and a masculine voice with a very faint German accent comes through the speakers.

“Tony Stark. It's truly a pleasure,” he says. “I am Helmut Zemo.”

Tony's face scrunches up, and he mouths the name, 'Helmut' to himself, wishing Steve were here to share his disdain. But he's not.

“I don't usually take calls from people I don't know. Usually stuff goes to the office, it comes through to me if it's important enough,” Tony says, carefully dismissive. “How did you get this number?”

“I pride myself on being somewhat resourceful. I wish to speak with the you in your capacity as Iron Man, as opposed to that of Stark Industries.”

“Nobody calls the Avengers,” Tony tells him.

“I obtained your contact information from Secretary Thadeus Ross. I understand you are acquainted.”

“We're very best friends.”

Zemo lets out a vaguely amused hum. “I wish to talk to you about Sokovia.”

Tony decides to listen.

 

* * *

 

When Tony hangs up the phone, he calls Natasha first. “We have a new ally,” he tells her, forgoing a greeting.

“That was quick.”

“Know anything about Helmut Zemo?”

“Heard him mentioned. I know more about Heinrich Zemo. His father. He was high up on the HYDRA list, died when SHIELD fell. Zemo's this new ally?”

“He wanted to talk to me about the Sokovia Accords. He's putting together a team. He wants me on it.”

“You?”

“Well, who wouldn't? I'm amazing.”

“What kind of team?”

“The kind that gets more people under the purview the Accords. A certain kind of people.”

“You sure that's a bridge you wanna burn?”

“It's already ashes. You in?”

“I'm in.”

 

* * *

 

Tony meets with Zemo. He listens as the German talks.

“You're the Avengers,” he says, without emotion – without the usual awe Tony is used to hearing from the general public. “You're always talking about saving the world. The Accords, they will actually accomplish that. They will actually keep the public safe.”

“What makes you think that the people who want to hurt anyone are actually going to follow the rules?” Tony asks, keeping his voice even.

“Of course there will problems getting everyone bound to the agreement,” Zemo says, waving a hand. “That is why I've asked for your help. You have influence with this world, with SHIELD and the other Avengers. Other enhanced individuals. You can bring so many over to our side, convince them to see reason. Then, as a group, you can help enforce it.”

“A team,” Tony says, not really a question.

“A team,” Zemo agrees with a smile.

It doesn't quite reach his eyes.

 

* * *

 

“He's right, you know,” Natasha says to him, later, when he's reported back. “You do have the influence to get this done.”

“I feel like maybe this is going too far,” Tony says quietly. “I don't think Steve would...”

“You said it yourself – it doesn't matter what Cap wants,” Natasha interrupts him. “Not when the entire world is at stake.”

“Is it really?”

“Of course it is.”

 

* * *

 

“You get what you're asking me to do here, right?” Rhodey says to him, crossing his arms.

Tony runs his finger along his eyebrow, rubs at his eye. “You think it's a bad idea?”

“I didn't say that,” Rhodey says. He meets Tony's eyes again. “I'm talking about Steve being on the other side of this thing.”

“Steve and I... we're not...” He doesn't finish the sentence, and Rhodey very carefully doesn't react.

“Because of the Accords?”

“Because of a lot of things.”

“His loss,” Rhodey shrugs, as though that's enough. Tony gives him a dry look, but doesn't say anything.

“I need you running this with me,” he says, after a moment.

Rhodey, of course, agrees.

 

* * *

 

Vision is perhaps the easiest to convince. His goal, since his birth-slash-creation-slash-invention, has been the survival of mankind – the needs of the many outweighing the needs of the few. He is kind, but he is pragmatic, and he understands the value of what they're doing here.

But he still sounds like Jarvis, and Tony can't quite meet his eyes.

 

* * *

 

Natasha goes to talk to Clint. When she comes back, she is alone, and Tony doesn't press the issue.

 

* * *

 

Tony can't bring himself to talk to the Maximoff girl, and when Natasha goes back to the Avengers facility to see her, she's packed up and left. Tony's not particularly surprised, or sorry, that she won't be on his side in this thing.

 

* * *

 

He can't get ahold of Bruce. He's not sure what he hates more: that Bruce won't be able to be with him on this, or that Natasha seems to fold in on herself, if only for just a second, when Tony tells her he's still off the grid. Truth be told, he's not entirely sure which side Bruce would have come down on, so maybe it's for the best. He doesn't think he'd like to be facing off against Steve _and_ Bruce here.

 

* * *

 

It happens painfully fast. The Sokovia Accords are not only read into law, but their legislations are adopted throughout most of the western world, with only a few hold-outs. Most of the planet seems to agree on one thing: Superheroes need to be mandated. They cannot run amok. Tony wonders if this is mostly due to Zemo's influence – he seems to have quite a lot.

He meets new people with abilities. He doesn't try to keep their names straight. The point is, they are on the side of registration. Tony doesn't need any new friends, he just needs numbers.

Zemo gives him a project.

“We need a way to enforce the Accords,” Zemo tells him. “A facility that will hold those unwilling to register so they can be convinced.”

Tony has a niggling feeling at the back of his hairline, but he simply nods and sets to work. He meets the prince of Wakanda – T'Challa, the king's heir. He's insufferable, but he is willing to part with vast quantities of an element Tony used to think was extinct – vibranium. He knows he needs to make use of a fair amount of it, and he doesn't have the time it would take to recreate it in his lab, so Tony uses T'Challa's connections to bring large shipments to him.

He will use the vibranium, and he will use the talents and sweat equity he knows are required to expedite the process, and he begins to plan. He will, as Zemo suggested, build a holding facility for those who refuse to register, to tell the world their secret identities.

Natasha calls it a prison. Tony won't disagree with her, but he won't say the word out loud, either. Instead, he sends Natasha out with a small team to begin tracking those who won't register with their respective governments. Tony thinks they will start in the U.S. because it's closer.

Instead, Natasha starts in Europe.

 


	7. Chapter 7

Steve and Sam catch Bucky in an alley back in Bonn three days later. Well, Steve does – Sam catches up about halfway through the one-sided first fight. Steve is telling Bucky he has to stop, they have to bring him in, and Bucky isn't saying a goddamned word, just fighting wildly.

So Steve breaks a chunk of pipe off of what looks like an iron guard rail, and beans Bucky over the head with it, knocking him unconscious.

They take him to an old warehouse across town. It's the only thing Steve can think of to do. There's no way Bucky did this – Steve just can't see it.

“How else do you explain it?” Sam says quietly as Steve places Bucky's metal arm in an industrial vise in the middle of the room. He cranks it down, hoping it will be enough to hold Bucky when he wakes. They'll need to have words.

“He didn't do this,” Steve says. “I saw his face when the bomb went off. He wasn't expecting it.” Sam just looks at him, challenging. “When you set a bomb, it doesn't take you by surprise when it explodes,” Steve continues.

“All right. So what are we going to do?”

“We're going to wait and see what happens. Check the news, see what's going on.”

Sam pulls out his cell phone and starts checking the major news networks.

He pauses. “Oh, fuck.”

Steve just looks at him and waits.

Sam turns his phone around and shows Steve the surveillance photo of Bucky, head down, ball cap on, red shirt, walking down the street. It's grainy, but it's clearly him.

“They have a suspect,” Steve says. “That was fast.”

“The news is putting it out there. That he's 'enhanced',” Sam says. Steve's just standing there, arms crossed. “We gotta come up with a game plan.”

“If we call Tony...” Steve starts. God, he wants to call Tony.

“No, he won't believe us,” says Sam.

“If he did...”

“Who knows if the Accords will let him help?”

Steve's gut fills with ice. Between the Accords Sam said Tony had signed, and the fact that he and Tony weren't exactly on speaking terms... “We're on our own.”

Sam looks at him speculatively. “Maybe not. I know a guy.”

 

* * *

 

Sam's on the phone at the edge of the room when Bucky wakes. He experimentally tugs at his arm in the vise, but when it doesn't budge, he just hangs there.

“Buck,” Steve says. Bucky's shoulders tense. “Do you remember me?”

Bucky glances up through the stringy hair that's fallen over his eyes. He thinks for a moment. “Your mom's name was Sarah.” His voice is like gravel – hard and rough from disuse. “You used to wear newspapers in your shoes.”

One corner of Steve's mouth lifts in a hopeful smile. It drops back down after a moment.

“I thought you were dead,” Steve tells him. _That's why I let them take you_ , he doesn't add.

“Me, too,” Bucky says.

“We need to talk about Bonn.”

“There was an explosion.”

“Why were you in the city?”

“I was...” Bucky trails off, like he's not sure of the answer. “I was meeting someone. Or I was on a mission.”

Steve wonders how Bucky can remember his mom's name, but not what he was doing just days previously.

Bucky gives his head a small shake.

“Zemo,” he says.

“What's Zemo?” Sam asks, moving closer.

“Helmut Zemo. I was meeting him.”

“Why?”

“I can't... I don't know. I think... I think he was helping me.”

 

* * *

 

“There's not a lot on this guy,” Sam says, looking up from a quick search on his phone. They're standing outside the door of the room Bucky is in. “Lots of money, he's a UN Special Advisor. His father – deceased – was outed as HYDRA when Natasha released the SHIELD files, but Helmut seems clean.”

“Seems clean?”

“All I've got to work with here are the public files.”

“What would he want with Bucky?”

“I don't know. He wasn't at the WCC. He's quoted in an article here. 'We can no longer tolerate the hubris of a few. The world is an ever-changing place', blah, blah, 'I support the introduction of the Sokovia Accords'.”

Steve glances up and meets his eye. “Then why would he be meeting with Bucky? Doesn't he qualify as enhanced?”

“'There are those who will believe we are taking matters too far, but even enhanced individuals agree that their unaccountability must be rectified,'” Sam continues reading. “Maybe he was trying to get Bucky on his side?”

“Why Bucky, though? Shouldn't he be going after someone a little more high-profile? What's the point in getting a ghost on your side?”

Sam doesn't have an answer.

 

* * *

 

Sam calls a man named Scott Lang.

“Is this guy really going to be able to help us?” Steve asks him. “You said he has a suit that shrinks?”

“It's more than that,” Sam says, letting out a huff of air. “The suit shrinks him down. To, like, the size of a bug. It's crazy tech.”

“How's that going to help us?”

“We kinda need all the help we can get right now, don't we?” Sam sighs. “He's smart. Genius smart. Stark smart, probably. Or close. We need more here – we need connections, we need research. We're flying blind.”

“But how do you know we can trust him?”

Sam shrugs. “Doesn't seem the type to swallow Ross' bullshit. I think he'll come down on our side.”

“Fine. If you're sure.”

“Close enough.”

Steve glares at him.

“The point is, he can get us more on Zemo, and he can get us out of Germany and into Austria. _With_ Barnes.”

 

* * *

 

Steve goes for a walk. Sam is watching Bucky, and he just needs to get some air. They leave Barnes in the vise, because he has a habit of running.

He calls Natasha. He knows he's not supposed to, but he needs some kind of connection and he certainly can't call Tony.

“You know Bucky didn't do this,” he says. He has to try, against his better judgment.

“I don't know that, and neither do you,” Natasha says. She sounds tired.

“I do.”

“We have to bring him in, Rogers,” she tells him. Steve just hangs up the phone.

 

* * *

 

A package comes to a dead drop the next day. Steve doesn't think too hard about how it got there so quickly, but it's got fresh passports for them – all three of them. They have electronic security tags and everything.

“These from Lang?” he asks Sam, turning one over in his hand to examine it.

Sam doesn't have a chance to answer right away. An alarm blares from his phone, and their eyes meet, panicked. It's the perimeter alarms they'd set up around the building.

Steve moves into the room where Bucky is being kept.

“You're a wanted man,” Steve tells him, walking closer to the machinery.

“I don't do that anymore,” Bucky says.

“Well, the people that think you did are coming right now, and they're not planning on taking you alive.” Steve moves forward and cranks the lever on the vise, releasing Bucky's arm. Bucky stands, slowly, deliberately. His arm whirs as he flexes his prosthetic fingers.

“I didn't –”

“I know, Buck. But we don't have time.”

 

* * *

 

Steve can hear them coming up the stairs, so they head for the roof. When he glances down to the street below, he can see more coming in the building, all dressed in black. He closes his eyes for a moment, steeling himself for this show of trust, then reaches into his pocket and pulls out the passport Lang made for Bucky. He hands it to him, along with a small piece of paper.

“This is the address to a safe place in Vienna. You have to get out of here.”

Bucky stares at him.

“Bucky, if they catch you...” He doesn't finish the thought. “You gotta go. We'll catch up.”

Bucky meets his eye again, then turns and runs toward the edge of the building. He soars off the side in a graceful jump just as the door leading to the stairwell bursts open, and a sea of men in black masks, with rather large guns, comes pouring out.

“Time to get to work,” Sam pants.

 

* * *

 

Sam soars down from the roof, to where Steve has climbed down via fire escape. Steve looks around again, still doesn't see Bucky, and steels himself against the disappointment. They don't have time – either Bucky trusts him and will meet up with them in Vienna, or he won't.

They take off at a run, crossing the lot at full-tilt. It's daylight, but if they can get clear of view, they can maybe make it to safety.

Steve stops short when they turn a corner. More commandos, none looking happy. At the back is someone he recognizes – “He should be dead,” he says to Sam, shaking his head and clutching at his forearm to stop their progress.

Sam looks around, spots the problem. “Rumlow? Shit. If he's not dead after what happened to the Triskelion...”

“Think he's enhanced?”

“There's no working serum. We _know_ that.”

“We _don't_. Bucky was –“

Steve sees Rumlow spot them. His steps take on a more determined rhythm, though he doesn't break into a run.

But it's been too many days since he's slept, and they're running out of time. He can't risk a fight right now.

“We gotta go,” Steve says, and they turn back the other way.

They escape through a few alleys, but Steve's still not sure if Rumlow knows where they are. They haven't gotten far from the factory, but Steve's starting to think maybe that shouldn't be the goal. He's itching to find out if Bucky got away, if he headed to Vienna.

He and Sam split up. Partly to keep the commandos off their trail, partly to cover more ground and look for signs that Bucky got away all right.

Steve's phone rings. He glances at the display – Natasha.

“Nat,” he says quietly, holding it up to his ear. He stops walking, leans with his back against a post, and glances around.

“Hey, Cap,” she says through the phone. Her voice is a little on the flat side.

“How's it feel to be on the wrong side of history?” he asks her. His voice sounds a little hoarse to his own ears.

“Let's not,” she shuts him down. “I'm calling to tell you we're bringing Barnes in.”

Steve feels a mirthless laugh bubble out of his chest. It's tight with panic. Have they found him? “I can't let you do that.”

“You can't stop us. We'll find him, and we'll bring him in. He has to face justice for the things he's done.”

Steve doesn't let his relief show through his voice. “Like you did?” He can almost see her eyes flash angrily.

Of course, she won't let him know he's struck a nerve. “Stark is putting together a task force, and he's building a holding facility. It's maximum lockdown – once you go in, you're not getting out.” She takes a breath. “I know how much Bucky means to you... but stay out of this one.” Her voice softens. “Please. You'll only make this worse.”

“You saying you'll arrest me?”

“You know what's about to happen. You really wanna punch your way out of this? You can't stop it.”

“You know I have to try.” Steve hangs up the phone, and closes his eyes for a moment. He takes a deep breath, then starts to walk again.

 

* * *

 

Steve heads toward his rendezvous with Sam, at a small pub they'd chosen for such things before they'd even managed to catch up to Bucky. He hasn't found anything that would suggest Bucky got away clean, but he also hasn't found anything to suggest he's been captured. He'll have to take it on faith.

He turns the corner, just a block away from the bar, when he hears the explosion behind him.

He turns, and the factory they'd been holed up in is just a fireball spewing smoke into the sky.

He keeps walking. The commandos aren't leaving any evidence – he can't afford to waste time.

 


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaand in honour of the new Civil War TV Spot, which, had I seen it before I wrote this, I would have incorporated because it's so good, and probably changes a lot of what I would do here, I'm going to upload an extra chapter after this.

Tony's tinkering with the plans for the holding facility. He has also figured out that the best way to get the facility up and running is to retrofit an existing building, rather than start from scratch. There's a defunct prison in the mountains in western Montana that's perfect for his purposes. It's set up in pods. Seven holding rooms to a pod, six pods per wing. He's calling it 42 for now. The plan is really to fabricate a ridiculous amount of bots, and have them do the actual labour, because it will all get done in a fraction of the time.

One of their newer recruits, a scientific mind like his own, has offered to help him with some of the plans. He doesn't need the help, but it doesn't hurt to have a second pair of eyes on things.

Later. For now, he's working alone, because he does his best work alone.

And God knows he's got work to do.

Friday, it seems, has other plans. A holo screen pops up in front of his work station, showing a news report out of Germany. The newscast is in German, of course, but Friday runs it through an automatic translator without having to be asked.

“Authorities are asking citizens to stay in their homes, and to stay off of social media for the time being. Police ask that residents not post law enforcement activity on social media, as they are engaged in a manhunt for their suspect in the terrorist bombing of the United Nations meeting at the World Conference Centre on Tuesday.”

Tony stares as a grainy, half-in-profile shot of Bucky in all his metal-armed, lanky-haired glory, flashes on the screen. He's wearing a red ball cap, and long sleeves, but Tony can see the glint of reflection off his hand.

“The suspect is described as six feet tall, wearing a red hat, with medium length dark hair. Authorities say the suspect is a powered individual, and that residents are not to engage.”

“Mute,” Tony instructs Friday with a flick of his wrist, as though he's trying to brush away an insect. He sighs. Glances down at his work. Glances back up to see a fireball on the screen.

At first, he thinks it's replaying footage of the bomb at the WCC – but when he looks closer, he sees it's a smaller building. Not full of people.

“Friday?”

The sound pops back on.

“– warehouse district. Police are saying the abandoned building has no ties to the United Nations or to the World Conference Centre, but they aren't ruling out that this explosion may be related to Tuesday's attack or the current manhunt.”

Tony knows he's not supposed to, but he doesn't give a shit. He stabs at a few buttons on his phone, and waits a moment while the tinny ringing sound comes out of the speaker. Twice. Three times. A fourth. His heart pounds.

“Not a good time,” Steve's voice comes on the line. Not cold, but obviously hurried.

Tony lets out a breath he didn't know he was holding.

“You answered.” Tony's skin tingles with the sense of relief. He and Steve may not be on speaking terms right now, but Steve had promised, promised he would pick up if Tony called him after an explosion. It felt like a lifetime ago.

“I said I would. I'm okay. But I gotta go.” The line disconnects.

Tony hates this. But Steve is okay.

 

* * *

 

Steve hangs up the phone after Tony's brief call, and sits down at the bar, where Sam is already seated. He doesn't take off his sunglasses – neither of them can afford to be recognized, and right now he wants to keep his expression closed. The short talk with Tony has set him on edge – he's not emotionally prepared to talk about it with Sam right now.

The little place is out of the way, and Steve's relatively certain they don't have a security camera. It wouldn't surprise him at all to learn Tony had set Friday loose on the world's closed circuit security and set facial recognition software to hunt them down, so he keeps his head tilted down, letting the brim of his black ball cap hide what his sunglasses aren't.

“They're not leaving any tracks,” Sam says to him instead of a greeting.

“I got a call from Natasha.” Sam glances at him questioningly. “They hadn't caught him when I talked to her. Didn't see anything to suggest they had before I got here.”

“I think if they'd caught him, they wouldn't worry too much about fireballing all the evidence,” Sam says, jerking his head in the direction of the exploded factory. They can hear sirens racing to the scene.

“They're not playing. Natasha said Tony's building a facility. A prison.”

Sam snorts. “Did she say it like a threat, or was that just implied?”

Steve swallows. “If you want out, now's the time, Sam. You don't have enhanced abilities, you can still walk away from this.”

Sam snorts louder this time. He doesn't reply.

“I just wanna make sure we consider all our options,” Steve says.

“I considered my options. I don't know if you noticed, but I chose a side. Long time ago.”

“These guys mean business, Sam.”

“You think I didn't notice that? Of course I noticed that – people that shoot at you usually wind up shooting at me, too.”

“That's what I mean.”

“This isn't going to be any different. And I ain't running yet.”

Steve stares at him for a moment, weighing his response, before giving a curt nod.

“Then let's go.”

 

* * *

 

Tony has words with Zemo about the second team, the one Zemo hasn't told him about. Zemo says Tony is 'too close' to the issue, and that time is of the essence – the more teams, the better.

So Tony works the problems he _can_ work. The holding facility, 42, is completed in an amount of time Tony still isn't sure he believes. Peter Parker's been helping him with it, and the kid's smart, but he's so fucking earnest. Tony's not sure he's committed to the cause, and he can't deal with that right now. He needs all his lieutenants to be on the same page.

Rhodey understands.

“You sure you didn't go insane at some point and I just missed it?”

Okay, maybe Rhodey doesn't understand.

“You know this is important,” he growls.

“I never said – look, Tony, my problem isn't what you're doing or how you're doing it. My problem, at this particular moment, is that you are telling me you want me in this as James Rhodes, not as War Machine.”

“We're back from Iron Patriot now?”

“Shut up.”

“I don't ever know what to call you, Rhodey. You're like Prince. At some point you're just going to be a symbol nobody knows how to pronounce.”

“You're showing your age, Tones.”

“You're older than me, _James_.”

Rhodey pinches the bridge of his nose, and Tony takes the win. “Look, I'm just worried that you're spreading us thin. We're all on your side here –“

“Not all.”

“Some of us are on your side here, we're trying to do what's right. But you either need to bring in some more people you trust at the top, or you need to keep the rest of us closer. You've got Romanoff off chasing other supers, you want me to go to senate hearings or something – you need more people close.”

Tony sits back and puts his feet up on the desk. “I've got a few people here. I may not trust them all the way, not yet, but they're here.”

“Fine. But the second things get hairy –“

“You're number one on my speed dial, Muffin Top.”

“Is speed dial even a thing anymore?”

“It's not, but Friday will call you if I need you.”

 


	9. Chapter 9

 

Steve and Sam manage to cross the border into Austria, and they get to the safe house Scott Lang has set up for them in Austria. It's a quiet, non-descript apartment building in a quiet neighbourhood. Not the bad part of town, but not a great part, either.

Bucky's sitting in the hallway, and Steve feels relief flood his body.

“Sam, check the perimeter,” he says, not missing a beat. “We alone here?”

The door opens before Sam get turn all the way around, and Bucky jumps up into a defensive posture.

“Oh my God. Oh my God, you're Captain America. That is so awesome.” The man who'd opened the door steps forward a bit, then back when he spots Bucky. His eyes tick over to Sam's, and he smiles gratefully.

“Wilson,” he nods.

Sam steps forward. “Scott Lang, meet Steve Rogers and James Barnes.”

“Oh my God, I'm meeting Captain America. Seriously, man, I'm a huge fan of how you got that 'roided out body without having to actually lift weights at all.”

Steve glares.

 

* * *

 

They go inside, and the first thing Steve does is go for a shower. He knows they could have to move again at any moment, but he just needs a minute to himself before the next problem grabs hold.

He doesn't take his time, knows he can't luxuriate in the hot water. They need a game plan.

When he gets out of the shower, their little safe house is suddenly more crowded. Wanda Maximoff and Clint Barton are in the living room. She's sitting on her knees on the floor, graceful as a dancer, while Clint perches on the arm of a chair. His posture is relaxed, but Steve can tell by the tension of his shoulders that he is anything but calm.

“Clint. Wanda,” he greets them. “How did you find us?”

Clint snorts. “Been a spy a long time, Cap.”

“You sure this is where you wanna be?” he asks them both, meeting their eyes each in turn.

Wanda glances down at the carpet, then back up at him. “I can't sit by and watch another corrupt government destroy so many families. What they're doing... it isn't right.”

Steve glances at Clint. “What about you, Barton? Natasha...” Clint has to know Natasha's on the other side of this thing. If he was able to find them, of course he knows. But if by some miracle he doesn't know, Steve really can't be the one to tell him.

“My name goes on a list somewhere, everything about me gets out there. You know that. I kept it off the books for ten years, I'm not letting this be the thing that changes that.” Clint holds his gaze for a moment, and then Steve nods decisively. He knows Clint's talking about his family, his kids. That's the only thing that would have him going against Natasha on anything.

“All right then. Time to get to work.”

 

* * *

 

They share knowledge. Natasha is in Europe, hunting down enhanced individuals and trying to convince them to sign the Accords. The ones that sign are recruited to help bolster their reach, and the ones that don't are carted to a secure facility somewhere in the mountains. No one's managed to pinpoint a location, but what Scott's been able to dig up points to a joint venture between Stark Industries and the nation of Wakanda.

“We do know the facility isn't in Wakanda, but their prince has joined with the cause, and they're out there supporting the Accords,” Scott says.

“Can we narrow it down to a continent?” Steve asks.

Clint looks up from his laptop. “We're thinking it's in North America.”

Steve scrubs a hand over his face. “What else have we got on the Accords?”

Sam leans forward. “Most of the Western nations are supporting it. The only western holdouts are Austria and Canada. I think the prison is in the States. Tony would want it close to home.”

Steve's body tenses. Sure, they've been talking about Stark Industries, but this is the first time since they started working the problem that anyone's mentioned Tony by name.

“Is it up and running yet?”

“We don't know.”

“We need to find out. And get a location.”

 

* * *

 

They head to Canada. It's close enough that they can start doing recon with the stealth-capable quinjet Clint had used to get himself and Wanda to Austria. They're not getting anywhere trying to hack into Stark Industries' servers, but honestly Steve hadn't thought that was even going to be on the table. They need to physically look for the facility – they know it's either completed or completed enough that it's already got a few inhabitants, somehow, and they know it's somewhere in the mountains.

They aren't the only ones on this side, but they don't know who all is rejecting the Accords, or who they can trust.

 

* * *

 

Weeks pass. Bucky gets more of himself back, but his memories are still fuzzy. He knows better who he is, but there are still dark patches. But he's more like the person he was, the man Steve remembers.

He's remembered more about Zemo. Between Bucky and what they've managed to get from the news, they've started to learn more about the state of things.

Zemo had set up a meeting with Bucky, back in Bonn, but the bombing of the WCC had, of course, put an end to that plan. Bucky hadn't known Zemo before, but he'd known his father. Heinrich Zemo was a Nazi scientist, behind several plots to try and end the world. Several solitary heroes had managed to stop him, of course, but he'd kept trying until the fall of SHIELD. When HYDRA's files became public, a cell of SHIELD agents, while they still had their jobs, had managed to locate him and he was killed in the ensuing battle.

By all accounts, his son, Helmut, had disavowed his father years previous. He has been a UN advisor for several years, and has been quoted in the last couple of years as being concerned for the future of the world, and its chances of world peace, when earth has been attacked by aliens and killer robots.

Steve watches the clips silently. Newer source material has him photographed with Tony – apparently they've become fast friends while Iron Man supports the Sokovia Accord cause, becoming the leader of what has been dubbed a UN peacekeeping mission.

Steve thinks, not for the first time, of war.

They know by now the facility is completed, but Clint's grid search hasn't come up with anything. Steve has decided on a new plan.

“We don't have a choice,” he says, crossing his arms. “We need that intel, and we don't have time to wait any longer.”

“It's a suicide mission, Cap, you're completely recognizable.”

“It's a risk I have to take. We can't keep cooling our heels while every day, more and more heroes are being forced to reveal their identities, or being locked up in Tony's prison.”

“You're not going alone,” Sam says, coming into the room.

“I'm not risking anyone else.”

“I've already told you, I'm in this all the way. No way you get in and out of a secret government building without getting caught.” Sam holds up a hand to stop Steve's protests. “Besides, you gonna hack into their system with all your mad computer skills yourself?”

Steve's jaw clenches. “I can figure it out. One of you can walk me through it on comms.”

Bucky steps forward from where he's been leaning against the wall. “You need back up on this, Stevie,” he says. “You need more than one person going in, in case not everyone makes it out.”

Steve loses the stare-down. Sam and Bucky go along with him to Washington.

 

* * *

 

They break into an operations base. They make their way through the hallways, miraculously unseen, and Sam is able to download the intel onto a small thumb drive. He hands it to Steve.

“Okay, we go out the same way we come in,” Steve says, nodding at Bucky.

And then it all goes to shit. They're only a few steps down the hallway toward the exit when a soldier turns the corner. Of course he recognizes Steve, and sounds the alarm.

The base, as it turns out, isn't just full of regular soldiers and tacticians.

Sam has made a break for the exit while Bucky and Steve try to hold the soldiers off. The intel is the important thing here.

Or at least, Steve thinks it is until Rumlow comes around a corner.

 

* * *

 

They get separated during the fight. Steve tries to stick to the plan – get out, get safe, stay together, go through the parking garage and back to the quinjet. But Rumlow hits him, harder than he thought possible, and he flies backward through a few walls. The last one is concrete, and he can't get up right away.

That confirms it – Rumlow is enhanced. Steve's not sure how, but something happened between the fall of SHIELD and now to give him super strength, and Steve has to assume other changes.

When he gets up, and his head stops spinning, he realizes no one has come at him again.

“Shit,” he says to himself.

 

* * *

 

Steve gets sight of them, the commandos, going through the door to the fire stairs. He catches a glimpse of Bucky, unconscious, dragged between a few of them.

_Dammit._

He slips out a window, to the fire escape, thanking God for governmental redundancies, and climbs up to the roof. He can hear the idle of a helicopter rotor, and he picks up the pace.

He swings himself off the ladder and up onto the roof, just in time to see the commandos securing Bucky into the chopper. He runs, and Rumlow gets in his way. They fight again, but this time Steve gets the drop on him and Rumlow pitches over the side. The helicopter is starting to lift off the surface of the roof, and Steve runs for it, full bore. He jumps, catches a hand on the skid, one hand on the railing of the landing pad, and he pulls – using all his strength to try and keep that helicopter from taking off with Bucky inside it.

The skid in his hand tears off the chopper and it lurches away from him. He falls, and looks up in horror as Bucky gets farther and farther away.

 


	10. Chapter 10

He fights his way out, manages to meet up with Sam at the quinjet, and they go back to their impromptu base.

The files they downloaded are encrypted, they need more time.

Steve can't sit down, though. He's pacing like a caged lion, all rage and anger, lashing out at anyone who comes near him. He knows they don't _have_ time.

It's Clint that snaps him out of it.

“Look, man, you gotta get it together,” he says, striding into the room with purpose. Steve turns on him.

“They got him,” he snarls. “Fucking Rumlow and those fucking commandos and fucking _Zemo_ –“

Clint doesn't say a word.

“I think he's behind it. Not just the Accords, not just the Registration Act, but – Jesus, I think he set Bucky up.” His mind is whirling, he's coming to conclusions before he even knows he's thinking about things.

“You think Zemo bombed the WCC?” Clint asks, his voice quiet. No surprise, just calm.

Steve looks him in the eye, panting. “And now he's got his scapegoat.”

 

* * *

 

“We need proof,” Sam says, crossing his arms. Scott is still working on decrypting the intel they'd managed to get out of the base, but Steve knows they can't wait for that. Not if he really believes Zemo is behind the whole thing.

“I know. Lang, are you close?”

Scott shrugs, fingers still working the keyboard. “Sure, close, but not, you know, _there_ yet.”

Steve scrubs a hand through his hair roughly, feet moving with nervous energy.

“Okay, we gotta make the call. We're going in, we're going to try and get some hard evidence against Zemo. Then we're going to find Stark's prison and get Bucky out.”

“Speaking of Stark,” Wanda says, stepping forward but glancing around nervously. “Should we...?”

“No,” Steve says, harder than he means to.

Clint glares at him. “Just because you guys –”

“It's not up for discussion. We aren't calling him.”

“Don't you think he deserves to know?” Sam says, almost gentle.

Steve puts his fist through the wall. He turns, clearly trying to regain control.

“Tony is too – he won't believe us. Not until we have something concrete. It's just a theory right now...”

“A damned good one,” Clint mutters.

“...and until we have definitive proof, it's just going to cause problems.”

Steve leaves the room. Sam follows him a moment later.

“I think you're scared,” Sam says. “I think you're just afraid Tony might not believe you, but you know he's –”

“I made the call, Wilson,” Steve says, bitterness creeping into his voice. His tone leaves no room for argument. “This is how it is. We're not calling Tony.”

Sam glares at him mutinously, but leaves the room.

 

* * *

 

“You know I should be the one going in,” Scott argues, when Steve comes back into their makeshift war room with a plan. “There is literally no one else on this team who can get in and out the way I can.”

“I need you here working the decryption. We need to find their facility, and we need to find it fast.”

“There is absolutely no way you aren't getting caught! Did I mention I shrink to the size of an _ant_?” Wanda looks sideways at him. Steve fleetingly wonders how these people haven't had time to discuss their powers with each other. Doesn't anyone get debriefed anymore?

“It's not up for debate,” Steve says. “I need you here.”

“He's right,” Wanda says, setting her jaw. “You should not be the one going. I could go in myself, they wouldn't even know I was there. I can use my abilities to cloud their minds, to hide myself from their surveillance.”

“You're not going either.” Steve doesn't give her a reason, but the truth is, after everything – he doesn't _distrust_ her, but he's not sure he's hit _trust_ yet, either. He slams his hand down on the table. “This is the plan. Sam and I will go, and you all will stay here and get word to us when you've pinpointed the location of the prison.” He takes a deep breath. “I need you all here as a second wave in case it goes wrong.”

“So what, we're B team now?” Clint asks bitterly.

“You're the failsafe,” Steve says, and he walks out of the room again.

 

* * *

 

In full Captain America regalia, with Sam suited up with his goggles and wings, they walk into Zemo's building's parking garage.

The plan, at least the one Steve told the others, was to go in stealthy. The real plan, of course, is to muscle their way onto the radar.

 

* * *

 

The commandos cock their weapons, and Steve turns his shield around and puts it away, letting the electromagnets connect to the strap on his back. He looks around. There are more than two dozen of them, all wearing balaclavas, guns raised.

He can't make it that easy on them, though, so he runs. He dodges gunfire, one of them shoots a car and it bursts into flame to his left. He glances toward it, and then sees in his peripheral vision, someone is catching up to him. It's not Sam – it's someone dressed all in black, face mask on. Steve doesn't know how the guy is running so fast, but he picks up speed and veers to the right. Suddenly, Rumlow is in front of him, and Steve can't slow down – he runs headlong into the other man, and they roll. It's a quick, dirty fight, and Steve loses. He slips away from consciousness to the sounds of an argument.

“Rumlow, you were told he was wanted alive,” the man in black says.

“Fuck off, T'Challa. He's not dead.”

And then Steve passes out.

 

* * *

 

Steve wakes up chained to a wall in a small, windowless room. He can't say he's surprised. He feels like his head is full of cotton, as though they'd drugged him with something when he was knocked out. He idly wonders what they used – and whether it would help him sleep at night sometimes. He doesn't know how long he's been under.

He tests his chains, but they seem strong. The metal feels a little warmer than steel, to him, and he realizes there's vibranium mixed into the alloy. Of course there is.

“I liked it better when this stuff was extinct,” he mutters to himself, letting his head fall back against the wall.

He waits.

 

* * *

 

It's hours before someone comes into the room with him. And of course, it's Rumlow.

Steve sits silently, despite Rumlow's repeated questions. He gets angrier and angrier, but he doesn't lash out physically. Steve's surprised, and he wonders why.

Rumlow wants to know, of course, why he's here. Wants to know where the others are.

Steve, who has trained to withstand interrogation, just keeps silent. He wonders if they caught Sam, too, but knows that was secondary to the plan.

Rumlow gives up, and leaves. Steve glances out the door as it closes, and gets a glimpse out the window.

Mountains.

 

* * *

 

The plan, of course, was to _get caught_. Sam would be taken for questioning, but ultimately he could only be charged with aiding and abetting. He's not enhanced.

Steve, though... Steve would be taken to the holding facility. And so would the GPS tracker he'd taken from Scott Lang and attached to the sole of his boot.

 


	11. Chapter 11

The vibranium laced in the shackles on his wrists is not enough to keep the other components from breaking under his will. Once Rumlow's gone, Steve puts enough pressure on them to escape, and he quietly exits the room. He starts a grid search, trying to get the lay of the land.

He's definitely in the prison, but it seems understaffed. There's no one around. He hunts around in the room next to where they had him stashed, and he finds his shield.

Oh, somebody is so fired.

 

* * *

 

Steve figures out the facility doesn't so much sprawl out as it does down. He starts going a level at a time, keeping to the shadows, until he finds himself on a floor that doesn't appear to have any cells. He's doing a cursory check anyway, when he hears a sound, a banging noise from the doors of the service elevator in an alcove to his right. It comes again.

Steve looks around. No easy escape. He swallows, resigned, and pulls the shield off his back.

The door finally slides open, and he crouches. And then he sees the eyes of the Iron Man suit.

He clenches his jaw. Of course it's Tony. He tries not to let the hurt cross his features. It doesn't matter how much this aches, to be on opposite sides.

Tony's face plate lifts, slides down into the back of the suit. Oh, that's a new feature, Steve thinks, a little hysterically.

Tony takes a few steps forward. “Captain,” he says. Steve tries not to bristle at the formality. “You seem a little defensive.”

Tony steps into the light, and Steve sees the deep bruising around his right eye. Wonders when it happened, where it's from. Probably happened to him while he was hunting down superheroes. Steve tries not to growl at the thought.

“Well, it's been a long day,” Steve says.

“You're not supposed to be here alone.”

Steve shrugs, drops into a ready stance. “Lot of things I wasn't supposed to do that I did.”

“It doesn't have to be this way,” Tony says after a moment, his voice softening.

Steve clenches his jaw, and ignores how his heart shatters. “You know it does.” He grabs the shield off his back and flings it at Tony in one smooth motion, rolling out of the way.

They fight. They don't speak anymore for a while.

 

* * *

 

  
He's bruised, and battered, and on his knees. He's recovering from the chunk of concrete Tony has sent flying at him. It hit hard.

Steve looks around himself furtively. Tony, in the armour, is in front of him, but they're flanked by more of the commandos. They're closing in. Steve knows there's only one way he's getting out of here.

“I'm sorry, Tony,” he says, micro movements as his body gets ready to spring to his feet. “You know I wouldn't do this if I had any other choice. But he's my friend.”

“So was I,” Tony says, taking a step forward. He sounds so sad, but Steve knows he can't wait, he can't take it back, it doesn't matter, and he hurls the shield, watches it zip out in front of him and take Tony in the gut. The shield bounces back to his waiting hand, and Tony goes flying backward, but Steve doesn't wait, can't wait. He runs in the opposite direction, straight for that window, and he tucks and rolls through it. He's on his feet, and he's running again.  
  


* * *

 

In the lower level of the prison, Steve takes a moment to breathe. He's found Bucky, gotten him out of the cell, but he hasn't found any other cell occupants. They must be on other floors.

He glances at Bucky, who is looking furtively around. Tracking exits, shadows, hiding spots. Steve starts walking, a clipping, determined pace.

“Where we going?” Bucky asks, catching up.

“Don't know yet.”

Bucky glances at him. “This is getting to be too high stakes.”

“I promised you the end of the line, Buck, and I meant it.”

“I'm just saying –“

“End of discussion. We gotta get out of here.” He glances up at the security cameras, knows it's only a matter of time.

Of course, Tony finds them quickly. There are no commandos with him this time.

 

* * *

 

Bucky throws a hard punch with the cybernetic arm, and then kicks at him. Steve winds up and hits down with the shield, and his arm judders as it connects with Tony's faceplate. He ignores the sound of the repulsor gearing up, as Tony loses his balance and goes down to one knee, and Bucky hits Tony again, interrupting it so the burst doesn't fire. Is it damaged? Steve doesn't know, can't think about it, won't.

It's hard, and it's beyond brutal. Tony is making horrible, pained grunts with each blow, but Steve can't stop. He knows he can't stop, no matter how much he might want to. He spins, lets his foot connect with Tony's head, and then throws the shield at his face, hard, at close range, hears it connect with an echoing noise, and watches it bounce back into Bucky's waiting hand. Bucky slams it into Tony's gut, and Steve sees him double over a little. Steve follows this with a hard punch down, feels it connect and feels his stomach heave, but there is no room here for doubt, no space for hesitation. This is what must be done, even though it's breaking a million tiny cracks into his soul. But he keeps doing it. He keeps punching, and hitting him – hitting Tony – with the shield Bucky has thrown back to him, with the full force of his strength, and he hears a horrible keening noise, mixed in with the thuds and clangs of fists hitting Tony, and then he realizes it's him making that broken, hollow noise, so he clamps his jaw down, swallows the shards in his throat, and ignores the tears sliding down his face as he Just. Keeps. Hitting.

Until Tony falls.

 

* * *

 

They run. They can't stay. Tony was alone, this time, for now, who knows how long, but Steve knows they have to go. If they have any hope of getting out of this alive, they have to go. Everything in him screams to stop, go back, to check and make sure Tony is okay, but he can't. He's not allowed to see if Tony's okay.

But he's compelled to turn around.

He sees Tony stand up, shaky, and then the blast of the repulsor coming at him. It hits him in the gut, and he feels fire. Then it's dark.

 

* * *

 

Tony can't breathe. He wasn't supposed to – his aim was – was the suit damaged? The blast was supposed to go over Steve's shoulder, it was just for show, it wasn't supposed to actually _hit_ him, and he's gone down. He's down, and Tony can see from here he isn't breathing.

“Oh, Jesus, oh fuck,” he gasps, trying to step forward but he's frozen.

Suddenly he's against the wall, Barnes in his face, cybernetic arm holding him against the concrete. Barnes' hand clenches around the reactor in the suit, and Tony still can't breathe.

“Steve's _dead_ ,” Barnes growls, crushing the reactor, and Tony's knees buckle.

 


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An extra chapter because they were both short and I kind of felt like an asshole posting the last one and leaving it there.

Barnes drops him, turns, and picks Steve's lifeless body up before he jumps out of the building, onto the mountain. Tony falls like a stone, no blood left in his face, and Rhodey finds him. He's trapped in the suit – Barnes crushed the reactor, and the suit is dead weight. Rhodey peels him out of it, but Tony can't find breath to explain, to tell him about Steve –

“Did they get away?” Rhodey asks him, quietly. He knows something's wrong, Tony can tell, but he's Rhodey so he's going to wait for Tony to tell him. He's not going to ask.

Tony needs him to ask.

“Oh, God,” he says. He still can't catch his breath, and his face is wet.

“Tony,” Rhodey says, urgent. “Did they get away?”

“Dead, oh God, Rhodey, I –”

“Who's dead?”

“I – I... Oh, Jesus, I killed him –”

Rhodey gives him a hard shake. “Who?”

Tony looks up, tears in his eyes, his voice broken. “Steve.”

 

* * *

 

Rhodey helps him up, and they leave the facility. Tony's in a spare suit, and Rhodey has given Friday the coordinates so Tony can have his meltdown in peace. They fly back to New York, and Natasha meets them there.

Her face is unreadable, but Tony thinks she looks like she might have been crying. She's not now, though. Now, she is hard.

“Do we have enough?” she asks without any preamble.

“I don't –”

“This has to end. I need to know if we have enough to move forward.”

Tony looks helplessly at Rhodey.

“We have some. But it's not enough,” Rhodey says quietly.

Natasha slams her hand down on the table.

“We have to kill the op.”

Tony's face goes somehow paler. “We have to keep going, he said we –”

“He's dead,” Natasha growls, and Tony almost lashes out at her, but she'd surely kill him and that's too good for him.

“We started this op on Steve's hunch. We have to end it now, before more people die.”

“None of it fucking _matters_ ,” Tony explodes, standing up from his chair in a violent rush. “Not a goddamned bit of it.”

Natasha's eyes soften. “Tony, of course it matters. He died for this.”

 

* * *

 

Stop. Go back. You missed something.

 

 

_**Several weeks ago...** _

 

“ _I'm not signing that,” Steve says, and he pushes away from the table and leaves the room._

_Tony finds him out in the hall. They talk. Actually, they fight. They fight about the Accords, they fight about the team, and they fight about Steve's desire to go back out and find Bucky. They say some things they mean, and some things they don't mean, and by the end of it, they're glaring at one another across the hallway and there's a nerve twitching in Tony's temple. But they come to a decision that neither of them are happy about._

“Something's hinky about all of this,” Steve says, meeting Tony's eye.

“Did you really just say 'hinky?'”

“Shaddup.”

“I thought you missed the 60s altogether. You're so old..”

“I'm serious, here, Tony,” Steve says, lowering his voice. “Something's going on.”

“Well, obviously.”

“There's somebody pulling the strings on this. It doesn't feel right.”

“Do we trust Ross?”

“Not for a second. But I don't think he's the problem here.”

“Well, no. There's someone else at the top of this. Question is, how do we sniff 'em out?”

Steve closes his eyes for a moment. “You're not going to like it, but I need you to trust me.” Tony waits. “We play against each other.”

Tony just looks at him for a moment, eyes narrowing. “You gonna break my heart, Cap?”

“It's not real,” Steve says, stepping forward so he's close enough to feel the heat of Tony's body, if not actually making contact. “We just need to play both sides, see if we can figure out who's at the top of this.”

“What's your plan?”

“You side with Ross. You sign the paperwork, you wait. See who comes out of the woodwork. I'll find Bucky, and come at it from the other side.”

“So the whole world thinks we're at each other's throats?”

“It's the only way. From here out, no contact.”

“Nat's the spy, not me. Not you. Don't I get a say in this?” Tony asks him. There's a plea in his eyes, but he doesn't reach a hand out to touch Steve. They both know that would crush their resolve.

“Natasha will know what we're doing the second I don't walk back in there.”

“Do we tell anyone else?”

Steve thinks for a moment. “I'll have to tell Sam.”

“I don't like this. In fact, I really fucking hate it.”

“You know I'm right. Trust me on this. Please.”

Tony meets his eye.

“ _There are some things you can't come back from, Steve,” he says. His voice feels like glass._

“ _And sometimes it's worth it,” Steve says sadly. He reaches a hand up as though to touch Tony's face, but he drops it before it makes contact. Instead, he just turns and walks away, down the hall._

_And that's how Tony and Steve break up._

 

* * *

 

“He died because of me,” Tony says miserably.

“We have to finish this. You know that,” Natasha says. “I sent Clint to him, and Clint knows the whole plan. They're waiting for our signal.”

“We didn't get any goddamned evidence, _Romanoff_. They're waiting for nothing.”

“That's not the only way to bring Zemo down.”

 

* * *

 

They have _some_ evidence. They know Zemo has managed to, somehow, replicate something close to the super soldier serum. It's not the same, and it's somewhat volatile, but it's getting the job done. It also has the stunningly horrifying side effect of putting its subjects under Zemo's control. He's used it to create a police force that he has total control over.

He was always telling the truth about doing all of this for world peace.

He just means to do it in a way that puts him at the top. If he has absolute power, he can force peace.

They don't have enough evidence to put him away.

But Tony's not convinced they need to stick to that plan anymore. If Zemo's dead, that will _also_ stop his plan.

Tony lets his pain fester into rage.

 

* * *

 

They can't communicate with anyone – they've been under deep cover, and any outgoing communications would be a red flag. Instead, Natasha hits a small red button on her watch, and they gear up.

They're taking the fight to Zemo.

 


	13. Chapter 13

Clint opens the door of the quinjet and Bucky runs in, carrying Steve over his shoulder.

“Jesus, what happened to him?” Clint says, coming around from the pilot's chair.

“No time, we gotta go now,” Bucky says. He lays Steve down on the floor, kneels next to him, and starts peeling back the front of his uniform, trying to get a look at the damage. “Jesus, don't be dead, don't be dead Stevie,” he mutters, finally tearing the fabric. He shakes Steve a little, but there's no response.

“That _bastard_!” Bucky growls, his metal fist pounding into the floor of the jet. The floor dents.

Clint powers up the engines and they're off. “You gotta tell me what happened, Barnes,” Clint says as he engages the stealth drive. “I gotta know what happened. Is he okay?”

“He's not breathin',” Bucky says, voice cutting like razors. “Fuckin' Stark killed him,”

Clint turns around in shock, and the jet bounces. He hits the auto-pilot button and stands in one fluid motion.

“What did you say?”

Bucky keeps shaking Steve, trying to wake him. Clint shoves him out of the way, feels for a pulse. It's there, thank God. It's weak, but it's there.

“He's not dead,” Clint says. “He needs a medic real fucking bad, but we don't have one, so he's going to get some adrenaline and we're going to hope to hell that he wakes up soon.”

Bucky backs up, scoots back on his bottom, while Clint pulls out a nearby drawer and grabs a large needle. He pushes the top of Steve's uniform away, and stabs the needle into his heart.

Steve sits up, gasping for air and coughing.

Clint sits back, relieved.

 

* * *

 

“We gotta go back,” Steve says. Bucky has filled him in, that he'd crushed the arc reactor in Tony's suit. Steve knows that won't kill him, but he also knows, because Bucky has told him, that Tony thinks Steve is dead. That Tony thinks he killed him.

“We can't go back.”

“Barton, he thinks –”

“Cap, you know we can't go back. We have to think about the mission.”

Steve stands up. Punches the wall, takes a few deep breaths, sits back down.

“Clint. He thinks I'm dead.”

“I know, Steve,” Clint says, gently. “But he's –” he cuts himself off as his watch beeps. Steve looks at him expectantly.

“We gotta go pick up the others,” Clint says.

“What was that beep?” Steve asks him.

Clint looks down at him with a grim smile. “That's the signal.”

 

* * *

 

They fly the jet back toward Washington. They touch down in a wooded area, and from behind the trees come Sam, Scott and Wanda.

“You have any trouble getting him out?” Steve asks.

But Scott and Wanda's rescue operation has gone off without a hitch. It helped, of course, that they'd underestimated Sam due to his lack of enhanced ability, but it had been a good plan. Scott, shrunken down, was easy to keep hidden in Sam's pocket while he was arrested. Wanda drove the getaway van when Scott managed to get Sam out.

They all pile into the quinjet, and Clint takes off again. They head north east, toward New York.

Steve stands to address them. “There's something I have to tell you.” Clint smirks, but Steve ignores him. “We haven't been entirely truthful about everything.

So Steve explains it to them. Sam and Clint already knew – Clint was only here at all because Natasha had gone to him, told him Steve would need another spy on his side, and Steve had told Sam from the beginning.

He explains that they'd been playing both sides from the start. He'd asked Tony to go against him, at least as far as the media would be concerned, to try and figure out who was really behind the Sokovia Accords, and why. True, they hadn't expected the Registration Act to spread like wildfire the way it had, but they had to have someone inside. And so they did – Tony, Natasha, and Rhodey all knew the truth about what they were doing, working with Zemo. Their job was to find out what Zemo was doing – and why – and gather enough evidence to prove it.

The others aren't pleased about being left out, but Steve doesn't care. All that had mattered at the time was the mission.

He knows that's all that should matter now, but he also knows they're about to go to a secret rendezvous, and Tony will be there. The ruse is over.

“So they got the evidence they needed then?” Scott asks.

Clint shrugs. “Nat's called me in, that's all I know.”

Scott looks sideways at him. “You're sure it's not a trap? You're sure they're all _actually_ on our side here?”

Clint meets his eye, unfalteringly. “You've clearly never met Natasha.”

 

* * *

 

Clint lands the jet in a field in Massachusetts. There's a sprawling farmhouse a few hundred feet away, and Steve feels a moment of deja-vu. But the farmhouse is in disrepair, and the grass around the property is long and overgrown. This is not a home.

Steve's the first one off the jet, and he starts toward the house. Sam catches up to him. “You sure you wanna go in there with no warning? Tony thinks you're dead.”

“I have to let him know I'm not, that's the point.”

“I know, I know, but – maybe someone ought to warn him?”

It's a moot point, though, because the door opens, and Natasha is standing in the frame. She pauses for a moment, then calls back behind her.

Suddenly Tony is rushing out of the house, barrelling by her. Steve picks up his pace and they meet part way though, crashing together.

“Oh my God, Steve, baby, you're alive, you're okay, you're here,” Tony is clutching his arms, then his face, then his waist, hands unable to keep still, but Steve ignores it, just grabs hold of Tony's face and kisses him deeply. He doesn't need words, he just needs to feel this man.

“Tony, I'm so sorry,” Steve whispers, almost a sob, after he finally pulls back, pressing his forehead against Tony's.

“It's not your fault, baby, it's okay, I'm so sorry I hurt you,” Tony's litany starts up again and Steve presses lips gently against his, again silencing him with a soft, gentle kiss.

“I'm okay,” Steve says when he breaks the kiss this time. “I'm fine, Tony, you didn't hurt me.”

Tony reels back, breaking the contact. “I did hurt you. Jesus, Steve, I thought you were –”

Steve steps forward, but Tony steps back again. “I'm not,” Steve says, pleadingly. “Tony, look at me, I'm okay.”

Tony's eyes roam hungrily over every inch of him, but he doesn't step forward.

“I just – it's good. That you're okay.”

Steve can see him shutting down, wants to step forward again and soothe him, do what he needs to to find out why Tony's shutting him out, but Clint comes up behind him and steps a little too close, his shoulder bumping Steve's as he walks by them.

Tony turns and heads for the house, and Steve stares after him. Behind him, he can hear Lang's voice hit a low pitch. “Captain America is boning Iron Man? For serious?”

Wanda moves closer to him. “You didn't know about them?”

“It's _Captain_ _America._ And _Iron Man_. Of course I didn't know that. My brain is literally exploding right now.”

Sam walks by them on his way to the house. “This is them being reserved in mixed company. You just be damned glad you're mixed company.”

“Inside, everyone,” Rhodey calls from the step. “We're too exposed out here.”

 


	14. Chapter 14

“So he's creating a police force?” Sam asks for clarification.

“KGB style,” Natasha says. “Except they're super soldiers.”

“And they're mind-controlled,” Rhodey adds.

“And he's doing it for world peace,” Tony says.

Steve hasn't stopped staring at him. Tony had purposely sat down across the table from Steve, not beside him, and Steve just needs to get him alone in a room. Fuck the mission, he needs to know why Tony won't meet his eye.

“So what's the plan?” Lang asks, sitting forward a little. He'd gotten over his initial star-struck reaction to meeting Tony Stark (turns out he couldn't care less about Iron Man, but Tony is an _inventor_ and apparently that's right up Scott's alley), and now he's right in the thick of everything.

There are others in the room. Vision is there, and a few others they had been hastily introduced to. There's T'Challa, the Wakandan prince, and Peter Parker, a kid from New York. Steve had never heard of the Black Panther, but he has to admit some surprise at learning Parker is Spider-Man. He would have pegged that one as a little older.

Steve wants to be mad that Tony has let so many people in on their plan, but mostly he just wants to know why Tony _still won't look at him_.

 

* * *

 

After the debriefing, they all decide they need to get a little sleep. Big day tomorrow. Gotta save the world.

Again.

Tony's dreading it, but not as much as he's dreading the sound coming from behind him.

Everyone else has gone to find a place to get a couple hours shut-eye. Tony is standing alone on the veranda, and he can hear Steve coming up behind him.

Steve gets right into his space, taking a deep breath with his nose pressed into Tony's hair. His arms come around from behind, and he sighs out a long huff of air.

“God, I've missed you,” Steve says. Tony tenses.

“Steve, stop,” he says.

Steve steps back, dropping his arms to his sides. “You going to tell me why you can't even look at me right now? I thought you'd be happy to see me.”

Tony feels a hysterical laugh bubble up out of his chest. He shuts it down after Steve's face falls. “Of course I'm happy to see you, Steve. I thought you were _dead_.”

“I'm not. That's the point. I'm alive, and we're together, and that's supposed to be a good thing, Tony.”

“But I thought you were. I thought you were dead, and I killed you. I _mourned_ , Steve.”

“That's not my fault –”

“I didn't _say_ it was your fault. I know it's not your fault, we hatched this plan –”

“ _I_ hatched this plan –”

“Yes! God, stop interrupting me. Yes, this was all _your_ idea, okay? And I'm so mad – I thought you were dead, Steve, I thought I'd killed you, and what was it all for? What do we really have that we couldn't have gotten if we'd been working _together_?”

“We have –”

“I'm not finished!” Tony hears the desperation in his voice, stops to take a few deep breaths. When he speaks again, his voice is calmer, but still cracked and broken like a dropped mirror. “I'm not saying it was a bad plan, okay, Steve? I'm saying that it was too hard. Everything was too real. I've been against you before and it brought those memories back. And when I thought you were dead, that I'd killed you, it was like when – when I dreamed – when Wanda showed me –”

Steve envelopes Tony in his arms, holding tight. “It wasn't real, Tony. That wasn't real, and I'm okay – we're all okay.”

Tony lets Steve comfort him for a moment, because he's selfish. But after he takes a deep breath, committing Steve's scent to memory again, he steps out of the embrace.

“I just need some time,” he says quietly. “We'll go and fight tomorrow, and we'll win because we're the goddamned Avengers, but then I need a break.”

“Tony, no,” Steve says, clasping Tony's hand tightly. “You're not the only one who's done things, here. When Bucky and I – when we _hurt_ you –”

“That was necessary. I know that. But I almost killed you. You nearly died, Steve.”

“But I didn't.”

Tony gives him a squeeze back, but he's resolved. “I need this, Steve. Please, let me have it. I just need a break, because it was too much. I need to get my head on straight.”

“Can't we – just tonight, can't we –”

And, oh God, Tony wants to. Wants to take Steve out in to the woods, out under the stars, and re-familiarize himself with planes of muscle, divots of flesh, the heady scent of his lover. But if he does, he knows he won't have the strength to step back after. He needs the contact too much, it's not healthy. It's not safe. If they have any hope of defeating Zemo and his soldiers tomorrow... He shakes his head. “I can't, Steve.” He reaches a hand up, runs his thumb along Steve's cheek bone, his jaw. Doesn't lean up for a kiss because he needs to be walking away now, or he won't do it at all.

“Tony, I love you,” Steve says, his voice cracking just a little.

“You know, that's the first time you've said that.”

“I do,” he says, insistent.

Tony gives him a small smile. “I just need time, Steve.”

He turns, and he walks inside, and he doesn't look back.

 

* * *

 

Steve, of course, can't sleep. The last weeks had been hard, yes. Having to go against Tony, having to cut off contact – of course it was hard. But it wasn't – God, was it really worth it?

Had they really done all of this for nothing?

Yes, they know Zemo is using super soldiers. That's... that's important to know. And Rumlow, but that... Steve had figured that one out, that Rumlow was working for Zemo, Tony's undercover op hadn't gleaned that at all.

God, how could he be so stupid? He'd thrown everything away because he had to play the big man. Had to play the hero, when what he really needed was to be a team player. They could have – they didn't have to do any of it. Not really.

He quietly gets up, and goosesteps across the dusty floor where a few of the others are sprawled out. Most of them are sleeping the sleep of seasoned warriors – of course there is a battle tomorrow, that's not new, and sleep is important, so they sleep. Steve never was very good at that part.

He slips outside quietly, and he sits on the step. At least the air is fresh.

He's sitting for a long time when suddenly Natasha drops down beside him. He hadn't even heard her come outside.

“You okay, Rogers?” she asks. “Can't sleep?”

Steve lets out a puff of air.

“Was it all a mistake?”

“He's not thinking real straight right now,” she tells him quietly.

Steve supposes he shouldn't be surprised. “You heard that earlier, did you?”

Natasha smirks at him. “I hear everything,” she shrugs.

“I think – he might be right, Nat.”

Natasha makes a very undignified – and unladylike – noise of derision. He looks at her in surprise.

“Don't ever let Tony Stark hear you say those words,” she says with a small smile. She turns serious again after a moment. “He's hurting, Steve. When he thought he'd killed you... Look, I know I wasn't exactly your cheerleader at the beginning of all this –”

Steve lets out a surprised laugh.

“– but you two are good for each other. It was a _good plan_ , Cap. It made sense. We know so much more than we did. Zemo's hideouts, the prison, we know how to get people _out_ of it, we know about the soldiers, and Rumlow, and we wouldn't have _any_ of it if Tony and I hadn't gone undercover.”

“We lost so much, Natasha.”

Natasha shrugs. “Loss is inevitable. You gotta decide it was worth what you gained.”

Steve sighs. “I'm not sure it was.”

“Well, that's your...” she trails off, looking up. “You see that?”

Steve follows her gaze, and he sees it. A flicker in the night sky, not like one of the stars twinkling down on them.

They watch it for a moment, and Natasha's posture tightens before Steve's. A split second after her, he's standing, backing up.

It's an army. An army of jets, flying right to them.

“Think they're friendlies?” Steve asks, a note of grim hopelessness in his voice.

“I think it's time to sound the alarm,” Natasha tells him.

 


	15. Chapter 15

It's Rumlow, and the commandos, of course. The super-commandos.

The farmhouse, naturally, is outfitted with weapons. There's an impressive arsenal in the master bedroom, and Steve and Bucky share a look while they each grab an intimidating weapon.

Clearly Clint and Natasha know how to decorate a safe house.

“How did they find us?” Rhodey shouts, blasting into the air to try and keep some of the jets from touching down. Some have already hit the ground, and the battle is already raging.

Tony follows Rhodey and Vision into the air, and Steve watches helplessly as one of the commandos hits Wanda and knocks her to the ground. He moves to help her, but a flash of red bursts from her hand and the commando flies back, harder than she had. She stands and dusts off her pants, stepping into the fray once more.

Sam hits the air next, adjusting his goggles with a jaunty wave, and Steve glances around. Bucky catches his eye.

“Like old times,” Bucky says, aiming his blast cannon.

Steve grits his teeth. “I can think of better paths down memory lane.”

Clint lets an explosive arrow fly, hitting one of the jets but it doesn't crash.

“We got a lot more coming in,” Tony says over the comms. The sun is starting to break over the horizon.

The fight is long. The heroes take a few hits – Scott's run out of the little discs that make the jets shrink, and Wanda's clearly fading, her energy sapped. Bucky and Steve are still fighting back to back, but Steve's pretty sure there's something in his forearm that's broken, and he knows it'll be hours before it heals. He's bouncing the shield off soldier after soldier, but they just keep _coming_. Sam's grounded, one of the wings having taken a bad blaster hit, but he's holding his own.

Steve catches sight of Rumlow in the distance. He's got some sort of apparatus on each of his hands, and he's running toward them. He lifts an arm and a blast comes from it, shooting off into the air. Steve looks up, and sees he's aiming for Tony. He misses, but it's a near thing.

“I gotta get over there,” Steve says to Bucky beside him, jerking his chin toward Rumlow. “Tony, you okay?” he asks over the comms.

“Peachy, Cap,” Tony sounds out of breath. “It's nice to get some aggression out on a deserving target.” A repulsor blast comes down in Rumlow's direction, but it misses as well.

“Clint, I'm coming to you,” Natasha says over the comms. She's running across the field, and Rumlow takes aim at her. Steve uses the distraction and makes his way, fast as he can, toward Rumlow.

Rumlow's blaster fires a shot right at him, and he uses the shield to deflect it. It makes the vibranium _ring_ with the impact, and Steve wonders what kind of weapon this is. He doesn't have time to think too hard about it though, because he reaches Rumlow and raises the shield to bring it down in a punishing blow.

But Rumlow's arm apparatuses aren't just for shooting. Between whatever serum Zemo has created and dosed Rumlow with, and the added power (what are they, hydraulic) of the steel surrounding his fists, he unleashes a powerful blow into Steve's stomach that sends him flying back.

“Steve,” Tony yells in his ear, over the comms. “Steve, you okay?”

Steve stands up fast, blocking the next punch with the shield. It rings loudly, again, and Steve can actually feel the vibration of it travel up his arm.

They fight hard. Steve is breathless and moving fast, sweat pouring into his eyes. He looks around wildly for back up, but everyone is busy fighting soldiers of their own. Tony tries, Steve can see repulsor blasts hitting the ground near their feet, but he knows he's too close to Rumlow for Tony to get a clean shot. And Tony's clearly distracted – as many jets as they've managed to knock out of the sky, three more have come to take their place.

It's hell.

And then it's worse.

Steve flies backward, and when he looks up, gets ready to join the fray again, he sees Rumlow let off a blast toward the sky. It happens in less than a tenth of a second – the blaster goes off, and Steve looks up. It's headed right for Tony, and he can't get there – no way he can get up there in time, but then a blur of silver and Rhodey is there, barrelling full speed into Tony, knocking Tony wildly out of the path, off course, and Rhodey takes the brunt of it.

He drops like a stone.

Tony can't right himself in time, the suit's nav system has clearly been jostled. Rhodey falls all the way to the earth, and all Steve can do is watch.

He lands. Crashes, really. And then he doesn't move.

Tony lands beside him, tears Rhodey's faceplate off, and Steve can see from where he is – the arc reactor in the War Machine suit is dark, and his eyes aren't opening.

He's so still.

Tony's helmet slides back, and he pulls Rhodey's head into his lap.

“Rhodey, dammit, you open your eyes, you son of a bitch,” Steve can hear Tony muttering through the comms, but Rumlow is attacking him again. He hits him, sees him fly back, throws the shield and lets it knock Rumlow further back. He needs the space, he needs space to breathe so he can –

“Please, Rhodey, goddammit I can't take this shit you need to _wake up you son of a bitch –_ ” and Tony looks up, meets Steve's eye, and there's so much grief there. Grief, and anger.

Steve is so fucking done with this shit.

He's angry now, and he lets it fuel his rage. Between the shield in his hand, the repulsor cannon he'd grabbed from the weapons room, and his own desire to make Rumlow _pay_ , his fight gets beyond violent. He can hear buzzing on the comms, knows someone's trying to talk to him but he rips it out of his ear, refusing to entertain the distraction. He sees a flicker of movement to the side, realizes Tony is flying Rhodey away – to a hospital, Jesus, it's bad if Tony's leaving the scene.

His punches and kicks are renewed with vigour, and then Bucky is beside him. They are teamed up against Rumlow in a graceful, fluid way they weren't even fighting against Tony just a couple days before. It's magnificent.

Steve flings the shield at Rumlow, and it bounces to Bucky. Bucky moves to hit Rumlow with it again but Steve raises his weapon and fires it, point blank, finally getting his chance.

And then Rumlow is dead.

The rest of the commandos, the ones who have still been fighting, turn tail. Steve sends Vision after them, but he knows they're not really who he needs to worry about.

All of this needs to end.

They need to go after Zemo.

 

 


	16. Chapter 16

They regroup, quickly treating any serious injuries back at the house. They don't waste time – Steve wraps a tensor bandage around his forearm, he can deal with it later. Natasha limps in but shakes her head and puts a hand up when Clint tries to take a look at her knee.

“It'll heal,” she tells him.

Steve looks around at his team. He sends T'Challa and Parker with Lang to get their weapons cleaned and loaded, because they're not staying long. He mostly sends them because they're outliers – he doesn't know them, doesn't know how to deal with them. He looks around at his team, those he trusts, each in turn.

“We're going after Zemo. Right now.”

 

* * *

 

Steve calls Tony from the quinjet. He expects it to go straight to voicemail, but Tony actually picks it up.

“We're going after Zemo,” he says into the phone. “I'll text you the coordinates so when you're ready –”

“He's not waking up,” Tony says, and he sounds so broken Steve almost tells Clint to turn around, take him back.

But he can't. He can't because of the goddamned mission.

“He's a fighter,” Steve says, unnecessarily. Tony lets out a shaky breath.

“He's my best friend.”

Steve turns away, toward the wall, for some semblance of privacy. They've split into two jets, but it's still more crowded than he'd like.

“Rumlow's dead,” Steve says quietly. “I killed him.”

“I – thanks,” Tony says. He breathes in and out, fast, twice. Then he lets out another long, harsh breath, and Steve knows he's got himself back under control. “I know where Zemo's home base is,” Tony says. “I don't need you to text me, I'll meet you there.”

“Are you sure? Tony, no one will blame you if you stay with him.”

“I'll meet you there.”

 

* * *

 

They arrive at Zemo's compound in two teams – Steve has Sam, Bucky, Clint, Scott and Wanda with him, while Natasha, Vision, Peter and T'Challa are coming from the other side of the vast parking lot. They're going to hit the compound in two teams – Tony hasn't arrived yet, but Steve has texted him and told him the plan.

Steve's team is walking toward the building, through the lot, when masked commandos start streaming out every available door.

So much for the element of surprise.

“What do we do?” Sam says, tensing.

Steve adjusts his grip on the shield, taking a breath.

“We fight.”

 

* * *

 

The battle rages for a long time. Steve has no idea how long it takes for him to get through the wall of commandos, to jump and roll through a second-floor window into the building.

“Keep 'em off my tail,” he says into his comms, and strides down the hallway. It's empty, but it won't be for long, he knows. He hears the continued struggle outside, and he knows Bucky is on the ground below, keeping the enhanced soldiers from coming after him.

 

* * *

 

Tony comes soaring in on the heels of a squadron of jets. They're clearly on Zemo's side, based on the gunfire and other assorted ordinance they're raining down on the heroes in the lot.

Rhodey is in surgery, and there's nothing Tony can do there. There's something he can do here, though.

He fires a repulsor at one of the jets, and it crashes into the lot, narrow avoiding Clint. “Sorry, Barton,” he mutters.

“I'm gonna give you that _one_ , Stark, cuz I'm just so damned happy to see you.”

 

* * *

 

Some kind of explosive device takes out the wall beside him, and Steve has to raise his shield to keep concrete and drywall from peppering his face. He keeps running, because the sooner they can stop Zemo, the better.

The next explosion knocks him off his feet, and back into the wall.

Everything goes black.

 

* * *

 

“Cap? Cap, what's your status?” Tony can hear Clint calling for Steve through the comms, but his ears are starting to ring. That was a pretty big explosion in the building, and Steve's not answering.

“Steve?” he tries. Nothing. “I'm going in,” he tells Barton.

“Tony, we could really use your help out here –” Natasha starts, but Tony cuts her off.

“We don't get to Zemo, none of this matters. I gotta go help Steve.”

 

* * *

 

Steve awakens only moments later, but his skull is still pounding. He's getting really sick and tired of being knocked unconscious.

He stands on shaky legs, only to find himself surrounded by Zemo's super soldiers.

 

* * *

 

Tony flies down the hallway, and barrels right into one of the commandos. He flies through a couple of walls, while Tony zips back to where Steve is fighting three more.

“Nice of me to drop in,” Tony says, landing heavily beside Steve and firing off a repulsor blast.

Steve grunts as he swings a leg out to kick one of the soldiers, then gives Tony a sidelong grin. “Your timing, as always, is impeccable, Mr. Stark.”

 

* * *

 

They fight together, finally back on the same side. It's graceful, and intense, and impressive. They anticipate one another, and don't need to call out any instructions to one another over their comms. They simply battle together, like a dance.

Tony and Steve manage to get to Zemo. He's in the middle of trying to escape through an underground bunker, but they stop him. Steve manages to stop Tony from just shooting the German in the head, but it's a near thing.

Zemo fights, of course, but he hadn't tried his super serum on himself, and he's no match for Captain America. Once Steve knocks him unconscious, he drops a small remote device he'd been clutching, and all of the soldiers under his control just... stop.

It's almost anti-climactic, and Tony would feel cheated if it weren't for the fact that he's really, _really_ done with all of this.

The teams outside start the clean-up, while Steve and Tony secure Zemo for transport.

 

* * *

 

They take Zemo to 42, the prison Tony retrofitted for an entirely different purpose. They bring Fury in to interrogate him, who brings in a former SHIELD interrogator by the name of Everett Ross, as well as Sharon Carter. The three of them work on cracking Zemo, but Steve just can't bring himself to be a part of it.

It's not that he doesn't think it's worthwhile. He knows getting a confession out of Zemo, and finding a way to reverse the effects of the serum he'd created, are important. They've released most of the enhanced individuals in the prison, except those who are more villain than hero. Steve knows they should count it as a win.

 

* * *

 

Tony goes back to the hospital where Rhodey is recovering from surgery, and he waits. The doctors tell him Rhodey's stable, but he hasn't regained consciousness yet. There are severe crush injuries that have to be monitored, and until the swelling in his brain goes down, he's not out of the woods.

“Will he be okay?” Tony asks, because that's the only question that matters.

“We won't know until he wakes up,” the surgeon tells him.

“And that will be when?”

“We don't know.”

So Tony waits.

He stays in the hospital, beside Rhodey's bed, for two days before Rhodey opens his eyes and looks at him.

“Hey, Tones.”

“No wonder you never have any cool stories to tell at Avengers parties,” Tony says to him, ignoring the tremble in his voice. “You quit halfway through a battle to save the world, and then you slept for two days.”

“Not my fault you all are so boring,” Rhodey says, voice hoarse with unnatural sleep.

“I can't believe the government keeps you on payroll. You're terrible at this stuff.”

“Yeah, yeah. Shut it. I'm fucking _awesome_ ,” Rhodey says, trying to sit up. Tony reaches out to help him, moving a pillow to help prop him up. “What does a guy have to do to get a sponge bath around here?”

“Oh, you missed it, Matthew the candy striper was in here just a couple hours ago. Handsy fucker, didn't miss a spot.”

“Ow, oh, ow, don't make me laugh, Tony!”

Tony reaches out a hand and squeezes Rhodey's shoulder.

“Welcome back.”

“Did we win?”

“Course we won, we're the Avengers.”

 


	17. Chapter 17

In the days that follow, Steve goes back to the Avengers facility and back to his routine. Everyone takes a few days off, of course, because it's been a bit of a rough patch, but Steve just wants to get back to normal.

But things aren't normal. It's too quiet in the facility, too empty. Natasha comes back after the second day, and then it's just the two of them.

“He'll come around, you know,” she tells him one day. She's come upon him sitting on the roof, just watching the trees around the compound blow in the slight breeze. It's a chilly day, but he couldn't take being trapped in that silent building anymore.

“He was right,” Steve says with a sad sigh. “In the end, we didn't gain anything from going undercover.”

“It was still the right call.”

“It nearly got Rhodes killed.”

“It nearly got us all killed. And what if we hadn't done it? How many of us would have been killed then? You can't second-guess every decision you make, Cap. Thought you knew that by now. Sometimes you gotta just make the call, and hope things balance out.”

Steve leans forward and lets his hands fall limply between his knees, resting his elbows on his thighs.

“I know. I know that. But this time, it's different.”

“We all knew what we were getting into,” Natasha tells him, her tone brooking no argument. “Even Rhodes. So did Tony. He just needs time.”

“I know that. That's what he told me.”

“So. Give it to him. Like I said, he'll come around.”

“I'm not sure I deserve it.”

It's quiet for a moment.

“All right. Enough moping,” Natasha says, standing up suddenly. “We got a gym downstairs in serious need of a good sparring match.”

Steve looks up at her with a sly, if wavering, smile. “Think that's a good idea?”

“I could use the exercise, and you're distracted lately. It'll be candy from a baby.”

“Oh, you're going to pay for that.”

“Make me.”

 

* * *

 

Zemo is tried and imprisoned for war crimes. The United Nations, what's left of UN-SPIDER, and all the governments who had adopted the Registration Act and Sokovia Accords sweep it all under the rug.

It disgusts Steve, but he can't muster up any surprise. Those same governments had hunted and imprisoned people, people who were just trying to help. To save lives. But they take no responsibility for it – they congratulate themselves on stopping Zemo's plan, and the few pundits who speak out about the actions taken out of fear are drowned out by 'feel-good' stories of enhanced individuals being reunited with their loved ones. As if Zemo alone had been behind their separation.

Steve stops watching the news altogether.

 

* * *

 

Tony still hasn't come back to the facility. Everyone else is back, and Steve and Natasha have resumed their training regimen with the team. They get Peter Parker's contact information – for later, just in case. Scott Lang comes and trains as well, though he doesn't move into the dorms. He commutes. On a flying ant. Which is just... weird.

But Tony's still not back.

Steve, at first, hadn't been surprised, but now he is, a little. He knows Tony needs time. But he thought – they could at least _talk_ – be friends, like they used to be. Can't they? Even if Steve can't have – can't have what we wants, can't _be_ with Tony, at least they can still be friends. They're a team, aren't they?

But Tony still doesn't come.

 

* * *

 

Tony is at Stark Tower, in his penthouse suite, throwing himself into his work. He's been researching Zemo's serum, and he's figured out that it was never a real drug at all. Instead of a pharmaceutical compound, Zemo had replicated many of the effects of the super soldier serum with nanotechnology.

He realizes, now, that Zemo must never have fully trusted him. Because if Zemo had told him that, that his serum was actually nanobots, of course Tony would have shut it all down. He could have done it in his sleep.

So he 'cures' the remaining soldiers by building a localized EMP body scanner, and each of them takes turns going in and having the bots zapped and removed from their bodies. They have no real memory of what had happened to them, and Tony doesn't care to explain it, so he gives the EMP scanner to Fury and moves on.

He finds something else to distract him. He knows he should go to the Avengers facility. It's only a few hours away if he takes the Audi, less if he takes the suit. But he's not ready yet. He's been on such an intense emotional roller coaster the past several weeks, starting with Steve's plan and their fake but all-too-real break up.

He doesn't like the feeling he has in the pit of his stomach. No one should have the power to make him feel like this. It's dangerous, and it terrifies him. He refuses to let anyone have that kind of influence on him, so he knows he can't go back there. Not until he's got a handle on this and he can look Steve in the eye without wanting to kiss him. They need to go back to being friends, like they used to be, without all the complications. When Tony's strong enough to do that, he'll go back. Not before.

He hides in his workshop for three weeks before Pepper makes an appearance.

“Friday contacted me. You forgot to unlist me as an emergency contact,” she says gently, barging in.

Tony turns on a thousand-watt smile, pretends he thinks it reaches his eyes. “Why, Ms. Potts! What a pleasure to see you here, unannounced and uninvited and – very welcome. I'd go so far as to say 'super welcome!'”

Pepper pulls him in for a hug. “I just got off the phone with Rhodey, too. He says he's been home for a week and you still haven't gone to see him.”

Tony steps back and rubs at his eyebrow. “I've been in the middle of it here,” he says quickly. “You know, adding to my many millions, creating innovative technologies to carry us into the next century, that sort of thing.”

She sits down on a stool at one of the workbenches. “He told me about you and Steve.”

Tony lets his chin drop to his chest, closing his eyes. “Oh, God.”

“I'm not mad, Tony.”

He looks up.

“We aren't together anymore, Tony, but we're still friends. I still want good things for you. I want you to be happy.”

Tony wants to laugh hysterically. Like 'happy' is an option.

“So what's holding you back?” she continues.

Trust Pepper to be a total know-it-all.

“Nothing's _holding me back_ , we're just taking a break.”

“Well, actually, Steve is at the Avengers facility going back to work, and you're hiding in your workshop pretending you can avoid the world entirely.”

“I just needed to take a step back.”

“Rhodey told me you thought he was dead for a bit, there. That it was your fault.”

“Well, _actually_ ,” he says, mimicking her tone, “I hit him point blank in the stomach with a repulsor blast and he pretty much _was_ dead. So definitely my fault.”

She ignores him. “Rhodey also says that you're being, and I quote here, a 'pussy-boy idiot with a shrivelled-up walnut for a heart' who – again, I quote – 'needs to pull his head out of his ass and go back to boning a national icon', end quote.”

Tony stares at her.

“I'm just the messenger.”

“It's more complicated than that, Pep, you know that. I couldn't make it work with _you_ , what makes you think I can make it work with _him_?”

“Tony, our break-up wasn't your fault.”

“Of course it was!” he says, stepping forward. “I was an idiot, and I couldn't give you what you needed, and I'm completely emotionally stunted, I _know_ that, so of course it was my fault.”

“Oh, Tony,” she says, sighing. “Did I give you everything you needed?”

“Well, you –”

“Of course I didn't. You need someone who will support you, who will let you be you without trying to change you. Tony, I've thought about this a lot, and I didn't do it consciously but I _was_ trying to change you. I wanted you to quit the Avengers, to stop being Iron Man, to just be Tony Stark of Stark Industries. I wanted us to work together and for you to never, ever be in danger, but that's not who you _are_.”

He starts to say something but she holds up a hand to stop him. “Tony, I broke up with you because I didn't like being worried about you all the time. Not because it was your fault, but because we just weren't _meant_ for each other.”

“I thought it was my fault.”

“It was both of our fault. Tony, I know how hard it is to earn your trust. I know you had a shitty relationship with your parents, and they died, and then Stane – I know how hard all of this is for you. But clearly Steve made the cut, you trusted him enough to go undercover in this whole Registration thing. Why are you running away from that?”

Tony doesn't know how to answer.

 


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the last chapter in this one. Hopefully this story didn't disappoint. The Superbowl teaser kind of messed with my story a little bit, but I didn't know how to re-write it to make that stuff work. So yeah, hopefully ignoring that isn't too annoying for people.
> 
> Thanks for the kudos and comments, and thanks for reading!

Tony waffles for three more days. He's stubborn, sure, but even he's impressed he manages to hold out that long. On the third day, though, he drives out to the Avengers facility.

He takes the Audi because he still doesn't know what he's going to say to Steve. The suit will get him there too fast, and he needs time to think.

He's still not sure he wants to do this. He just – he knows it's not fair to punish Steve this way, to leave him wondering. He'll go out to the training facility, they'll talk, and they'll go from there.

At least, that's the plan.

But when he knocks on Steve's dorm door, and Steve opens it – fresh from the shower, it looks like, because his hair is still damp and he hasn't got a shirt on yet, oh God – all of Tony's good, responsible intentions fly out the window, and he surges forward, takes Steve's face in his hands and crushes their lips together in a rough, desperate kiss.

 

* * *

 

Steve knows he should break away, they need to _talk_ , but he can't bring himself to do it. It's been too long, they've been apart for _ages_ , and he feels like his heart is going to burst out of his chest with the way it's pounding. Instead, he hauls Tony in through the door, slams it shut and guides them back toward the bed.

He sits down and pulls Tony down to straddle his lap, not breaking the kiss. His hands are everywhere, pulling at Tony's shirt, tracing the muscles in his back, squeezing his hips.

He needs to breathe, so one hand reaches up and cards itself through the hair at the back of Tony's head, and he pulls gently, so he can bite and suck at Tony's jawline, down his throat.

“Steve, babe –”

“No,” Steve growls, pleading. “No, don't tell me to stop, please,”

“We gotta, we gotta stop, we gotta talk.”

Steve stops, takes a deep, fortifying breath, and falls back on the bed, letting go with both hands. He can tell by the small movements of Tony's legs on either side of him that he almost follows him down, and oh, Steve does _not_ want conversation right now.

But he knows. He knows they have to.

 

* * *

 

Tony crawls off Steve's lap, and walks to the opposite side of the room. He'll have better self control if he's not so close, if every breath doesn't fill his head with Steve's scent. He sits in Steve's strictly-functional, terribly uncomfortable armchair, and tries to catch his breath.

Steve sits up and runs a hand over his hair, back and forth, then down his face. He clears his throat.

“How are you?”

Leave it to Steve to be so damned polite.

Tony sighs.

“I'm – I'm okay.”

“How's... things?”

Tony chuckles. “Look, Steve, we need to talk. About us.”

Steve's face is a mask.

“I meant what I said,” he says after a moment. “When I told you I loved you, I meant it. I never would have thought – but Tony, I do.”

Tony's breath catches. “I don't – Steve, I am so bad at this.”

“You're not –”

“Seriously, so, so bad. I have never been in a relationship I didn't fuck up six ways from Sunday, because I freak out or I run or I screw up.”

Steve just waits.

“The problem is... this time, God, this time I want it to _work_ , Steve.”

“We can make it work, Tony. We can, I promise.”

“You say that _now_ , but in six months or a year you'll be telling me you can't do this anymore, that it's too hard, that I've fucked up too many times –”

“Tony, stop. Just stop.”

Tony stops.

 

* * *

 

Steve gets up from the bed and goes to kneel in front of Tony, grabbing hold of both his hands folded in his lap.

“I can't promise we won't have problems,” he starts, carefully. “That would be stupid. But I can promise you I love you and I want to try. I want to.”

Tony clears his throat but doesn't speak.

“Tony,” he tries again. He pauses. “I love you.”

Tony lets out an explosive sigh, almost a laugh. “You don't know what –”

“I love you,” Steve says, leaning up, cupping the back of Tony's neck in his hand and pulling him forward, urging him in for a kiss.

“I love you,” he whispers against Tony's lips.

Tony lets out a sound that could almost be a whimper, his hands clenching spasmodically.

Steve kisses him, slowly and oh so gently, then breaks the contact.

“I love you.”

 

* * *

 

Tony searches his eyes, and then he sees it. It's not something he can quantify, but he knows it's special. Truth. Love. Promise.

So he surges forward, catches Steve's lips in a kiss, gasps in air, and they're tumbling to the floor together.

“Me too, me too, me too,” he whispers, trying to kiss every inch of Steve's exposed skin. “God, me too.”

Steve rolls them so he's grinding his hips down into Tony's, a needy sound tearing its way out of his chest. Tony gasps, then lets the air out in a rush when Steve – in one fluid, super-strength-fueled motion – stands, lifts him up and onto the bed.

 

* * *

 

Steve makes short work of Tony's clothes, hands greedy to brush soft, flushed skin. He mouths wet kisses down Tony's body, nipping with his teeth when he feels like it, and Tony is already writhing beneath him.

His chin bumps Tony's cock, hard for him, and he's rewarded with the heady scent of Tony, all musk and richness and spice, so he licks up one side of Tony's arousal.

Tony lets out a short, cut-off cry, and Steve knows that as much as this should be sweet and loving and romantic, it's going to be quick and dirty.

He pushes at his pants, sliding them down his hips and freeing his own erection, letting his mouth close over Tony's cock, sucking him in wetly.

“Oh, Jesus, Steve,” Tony pants, and he shifts under Steve's ministrations, trying to reach the bedside table.

Steve places his hands on Tony's hips, holding them still so he can tease, but Tony manages to reach the drawer anyway, rummaging until he finds the bottle of lubricant he knows Steve keeps in there.

Tony grabs one of Steve's hands, pulls it off his hip and holds it, squirting some of the lube onto his fingers, opening his legs.

Steve hesitates for a moment, then comes to a decision.

Instead of reaching down behind Tony's legs to prepare him, Steve reaches back behind himself, slick fingers pushing at his own entrance.

 

* * *

 

Tony looks down, and instantly regrets it. Not because it's not amazing – there is literally nothing hotter than Steve Rogers fingering himself while he's sucking Tony's dick like that, seriously nothing, but he has to close his eyes and think about quantum string theory if he has any hope in hell that this will all last more than fifteen more seconds.

“Baby, are you sure you wanna do it like that?” Tony asks, after he's managed to collect himself.

Steve pulls off his cock, and Tony wonders how he could have been so stupid as to ask a question in the first place.

Steve's expression strains, and Tony glances back to see that it looks like he's added a second finger. Hoo boy.

His face clears a moment later. “I want – yeah, I want it like that.”

Tony watches his cheeks flush, and it's so damn _gorgeous_.

“Well, then you come here, baby. I'm gonna make it so good for you, promise.” Tony pulls him up, presses their lips together, licks at Steve's mouth until it opens, then delves his tongue inside. He rolls them, adds some lube to his own fingers, and slides down Steve's body to press two fingers, gently, inside him.

It doesn't take long for Steve to stretch enough to accommodate Tony's hardness, and when he finally, finally presses in it's _hot and tight and slick_ , and Steve just moans, cock leaking over his stomach, pressed between them. Tony leans forward and kisses him, and then he starts to move.

 

* * *

 

Steve feels so full, so stretched, so hot – he feels like his skin is burning, tingling with sensation. The sensual slide-roll-thrust of Tony's hips is driving him insane, and he can feel Tony bumping over his prostate with each push forward. Tony is pressed down along his chest, and the pressure and friction of their bodies against his erection has him spiralling into a breathless orgasm, his entire body coming undone, shuddering, shattering.

His vision clears and he feels Tony slump over him, letting out a loud groan. He can't help the chuckle from bubbling up out of his chest.

 

* * *

 

“You shut up, I can't talk to you until those brain cells grow back,” Tony tells him, huffing for air. “I need at least fourteen hours of sleep before I can deal with you.”

Steve pokes him in the ribs and he jerks, rolls off quickly, and they both gasp at the loss of contact.

“You good?” Tony asks him, valiantly trying, but ultimately failing, to raise his head off the pillow. He manages to open one eye, though and he's ridiculously proud.

“I'm good. You good?” Steve asks, and Tony can't tell if he's being patronizing or if his brain's dribbled out his ears, too. Decides not to analyze it.

After a beat, Steve pulls Tony closer so he's in his usual spot on Steve's large chest, and pulls the corner of the bed sheet over to wipe the mess off his stomach.

Tony rallies, takes a breath, and nuzzles closer into Steve's neck.

“I know we still have stuff to work on,” Steve says gently. “But God, I love you.”

Tony snorts out a breathy laugh and presses a kiss to Steve's chest.

“We'll work it out. It's fine. We're young – well, I'm young, you're still 97 – and in love, and we're superheroes.”

Steve squeezes him closer. “If anyone can do it, we can,” he agrees.

Tony snuggles in and lets himself drift off to sleep.

 

**Author's Note:**

> [I have a tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/robintcj), apparently, where I reblog gifs and pics I like, or complain about the writing process sometimes. I'm new to that particular scene so I don't actually know how to USE it, but you're welcome to stop by and wave at me! Or poke me? Or... wait, how do I tumblr?


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